


Priceless

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, eventual angst, or rather lack of comunication, sort of, very very mild smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Love is said to be priceless.But for the experienced trader, EVERYTHING has a price.OrIn which Sherlock is a Prince with a Kingdom in trouble, John is an all powerful (but reluclant) Wizard and they strike a deal.





	1. A deal is made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimamia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimamia/gifts).



> This is the resulting work for the[ FandomTrumpsHate ](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/)auction on tumblr, which was won by [Mima](http://sherlock-and-john-getting-it-on.tumblr.com/). So first things first, I’d like to thank them once more for their generosity and for the lovely prompt I was given to work with ;) Also, a huge thanks to the mods, for coming up with this great idea.
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> The prompt was a fic based on Beauty and the Beast, with John as the Beast. I asked about the chance of using the Once Upon a Time spin on the tale and was given thumbs up, so well… here we are. However, no knowledge of the show is required, since I’m only using the basic premise and I’ll be explaining quite a lot of things. I’m quite happy with the plot inside my head, but as you might know stories tend to run away from me so… we’ll see how it goes :P
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> Enjoy?

It isn’t, not by far, what Sherlock would have called a perfect solution. But, as dear brother Mycroft is fond of saying, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sherlock sighs, glancing around the magic circle. He’s fairly certain he got all the sigils right, but one can never be too careful when dealing with the occult. After all, the slightest misstep might cost far too dearly and although he’s been accused more than once of being reckless, he’s not a fool.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He wonders briefly if he should have consulted his parents or his brother before attempting this, but quickly pushes the idea aside. He already knows what they would have said and he knows he would have gone along with it anyway, so there was really no point in worrying them.

He takes another deep breath, telling himself he can do this. It might not be his brightest idea ever, but he can’t think of anything else to do. Of course he’s not exactly a brilliant military strategist, but he doesn’t think that would make the slightest difference. The enemy they’re facing is, after all, not human and so no human strategy could stop it.

Still-

“Are you going to keep standing there all evening?” a high pitched voice asks from behind him, startling him and making him jump. He immediately frowns, annoyed with himself. He usually manages to keep himself perfectly collected, even when surprised, so really-

He turns around, glaring at whoever dared to interrupt him, but his glare quickly turns into an awed stare. The creature standing in front of him looks fundamentally human, but there are glittery scales covering its whole body and large taloned nails at the end of its fingers. Its eyes look nearly reptilian, but the pupils are _wrong_ somehow, the color a strange mixture of gold and green.

Sherlock is immediately fascinated.

“Now you’re going to stand there gaping,” the creature says, rolling its eyes dramatically. “Can we please get to the dealmaking part? I do have other places to be, you know. Desperate times are good times for business.”

Sherlock frowns, narrowing his eyes at the creature. “You’re him? The Dark One?”

The creature shrugs. “I’m known under many names. But yes, that’s one of them.”

“But- the circle- you were supposed to- I didn’t even-”

“Oh, please,” his interlocutor says, growing annoyed, its eyes acquiring a dangerous glint. “That’s a bunch of nonsense. You reek of desperation; you don’t need a magic circle to summon me.”

That- that actually makes sense. “So you… you know what I want?”

The creature smirks. “You? You want to escape an engagement and run away from your boring little life.” Its smirk widens as Sherlock opens his mouth to protest. “But you were actually going to say something about the Ogres.”

Sherlock frowns, not used to have people deducting _him._ Although now he’s beginning to understand why people might not like it. “So-”

“Sorry, but I don’t do that type of deals. Virgin maidens are not my thing. Or, in this case, virgin princes.”

Sherlock blushes scarlet. “I didn’t- I wasn’t- I wasn’t offering myself like that!” he says, tone high pitched, both angry at the creature’s implication and indignant that he apparently lacks appeal as _that._

“What did you have in mind, then?” the creature asks, tilting its head to the side, watching him closely.

Sherlock bites his lip, because he isn’t quite sure what he had been intending on offering, actually. He had this vague idea of offering to go with the wizard/creature in exchange of peace for his Kingdom, but he hadn’t really thought-

Well. That goes showing how desperate he is, doesn’t it?

The creature is still watching him curiously, a strange look on its face. “You really don’t want to marry, do you?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Not really, no. Also, no military force is likely to help us stop the Ogres, so the whole marriage of convenience is a ridiculous idea anyway.  But if you- well, I thought that if I could strike a deal with you-” he waves a hand vaguely, not having really thought about any of the particulars, “-everyone won.”

“Except me,” the other says, but doesn’t seem particularly troubled by that. It looks thoughtful, though. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I agree. You realize you'll never be able to leave, yes? You’ll have to stay with me forever, never to see your friends or family ever again.”

Sherlock makes a face. “Do you honestly think that worries me overly much?”

The creature laughs then, looking thoroughly amused. “Well, if you’re sure-” It smiles, producing what seems like a contract out of thin air. “You sign right here,” it says, pointing at the dotted line at the end of the document and watches as Sherlock scribbles his name, looking entirely too amused. “You didn’t even read it,” it murmurs. “Desperate much?”

“I’m just doing what’s best for the Kingdom.”

“Of course,” his companion agrees with a smirk. “Are you going to say goodbye or should I leave a note for your parents to find?”

The deal has already been made. He can’t change his mind, no matter what his parents or brother say, but-

He’d rather avoid the tearful goodbye.

“A note, please.”

The creature laughs once more, a loud unnerving sound that makes Sherlock shiver.

He just hopes he won’t come to regret his crazy plan.

 

* * *

 

“As you can see, the place is rather dusty.” The creature says as they walk into its apparent home, a dark and gloomy Castle in the middle of nowhere. Cliched, probably, but appropriate. “Can’t make the servants stay. Not sure why.” It smirks and Sherlock isn’t quite sure he’s supposed to find it humorous, but he does and his lips curve upwards briefly, which seems to puzzle the creature greatly. “Anyway, since you’re stuck with me forever more- you can start with that.”

“With what?”

“Dusting!” the creature says dramatically. “Do keep up, little Prince.”

Oh. Well. That’s not- that’s-

“Problem? Should I drop you back home? Marrying some boring little Princess isn’t looking so bad now?” it seems a bit... eager, actually, to get rid of him which he finds insulting somehow.

“No, of course not. It’s perfectly fine,” he says, offering the creature a small polite smile that seems to puzzle it further.

“Alright. Good. Good.” Sherlock smiles and the creature scowls, annoyed. “Dusting and cleaning it is. For now.” It adds, trying to sound ominous, but it’s going to need to try harder if it wants to intimidate him.

“How should I call you, then?” he asks, as they continue making their way through the Castle.

“What?”

“How should I call you?” Sherlock repeats, doing his best to remain obnoxiously polite, since that seems to irk his host for some reason. “You said you’re known under many names, so how-?”

“Oh, that.” It stops, a mighty frown on its face. “I suppose- John is fine, I suppose.”

John. John’s a boring name for such an interesting creature. “You were human, once.”

The other glares, but Sherlock knows he’s got it right by the way it (he) huffs and speeds off, pointedly ignoring his attempts of further conversation.

Well.

Maybe calling on the Dark One was one of his brightest ideas, after all.

 


	2. Old wounds, old regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! When inspired, I write very quickly but… well. I have a couple of plot bunnies biting onto my ankles, although I’ll try not to get distracted ;)  
> Enjoy?

The Castle is entirely too quiet, not other sound can be heard but the occasional howl of the wind.

John sighs, gaze fixed on the ceiling, feeling tired but incapable of sleeping. The silence rattles on his nerves, making him itchy. Of course it’s been like this since forever, but it didn’t use to bother him. Now however-

It’s ridiculous, he knows. The Castle is too big anyway and so far the Prince has contented himself with looking around his own wing, which is as far away from John’s quarters as possible. So, even if said Prince wasn’t asleep, John wouldn’t be able to hear him rummaging around.

Still-

It was a mistake bringing him, obviously. He had known the minute he had presented him with the contract that he was bound to regret this particular deal, but he had gone along with it anyway. It’s not like he ever refuses a deal when Ogres are involved anyway, so it seemed perfectly logical.

He rubs his shoulder absentmindedly. It doesn’t hurt anymore naturally, but thinking of Ogres always brings a phantom pain to his shoulder and leg, which is frankly hateful. It was forever ago; he has almost completely forgotten how being _truly_ human was like; his old wounds shouldn’t bother him at all anymore.

He sits up, figuring he’s not going to get any sleep anyway and trying to think of something to entertain himself with. He just got himself some new books, but he can already tell they won’t be helpful at all. After all this time he’s not sure why he keeps hoping he’ll eventually find an alternative cure, but-

His mind goes back to the Prince. He knows even entertaining such thoughts is foolish, but he can’t help himself. If he must be completely honest, the reason he agreed to the deal in the first place was because a silly, stupid part of him had thought maybe-

He growls, annoyed with himself. He shouldn’t have agreed: the Prince and his family had enough riches to pay whatever other price he had demanded; taking the boy with him was a folly. But the moment his eyes had landed on him, looking so determined and intrigued instead of repulsed, he hadn’t been able to fight the hope rising inside his chest.

It has been a lifetime since he felt that immediate pull towards someone. No one since Ma-

No. He’s not thinking about her. He’s most definitely not thinking about her.

Not tonight, anyway.

* * *

 

John sits on his old chair in his workroom, carefully twirling a rose. He stares at the flower almost boredly, his mind far away. Each twirl makes the flower lose a petal, but he doesn’t care at all: the rose that actually matters is safely hidden and locked away, where he can no longer hurt it (her).

He closes his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath to keep the pain at bay. He has caused too much pain to those who had loved him, he certainly doesn’t deserve to be loved again. And yet-

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you were up.”

John hums, not opening his eyes. He can feel the Prince’s stare, but he hopes he’ll retreat soon enough. It’s not like he was looking for him and people tend to escape his presence as soon as they can.

Which is why he’s more than a little startled when he hears the Prince dropping himself on the chair in front of his. “Was there something you wanted?” he asks, tone dripping with annoyance. Sherlock shakes his head once, eyes sweeping over him, oddly observant and John can’t help feeling self conscious.

“What?” he snaps after a while, as the Prince keeps staring at him. It’s odd to be so closely and unapologetically stared at, not to mention a bit unnerving. He’s well aware of how odd looking and downright _disgusting_ people can find his appearance, so-

The Prince shrugs. “I’m bored,” he announces plainly and John lets out an annoyed growl that seems to have no effect on his companion, which just succeeds on annoying him further.

Spoiled brat. “I don’t recall that keeping you entertained was part of the bargain.”

Sherlock pouts, _actually pouts_ and John thinks once more he made a HUGE mistake. “There’s a library upstairs,” he offers against his better judgement. “And I certainly have enough trinkets lying about for you to examine.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. “I know; I’ve been _dusting_ as you said. But-” he shrugs casually, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes. “I might be a little lonely.”

John huffs. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

The Prince hums thoughtfully. “I never spent much time with other people back home,” he says slowly, measuring his words carefully. “They were all so _dull._ So I never- I was alone most of the time anyway.” His gaze is earnest and John can feel his stomach flip, but hurries to ignore the sensation. “It feels different, somehow.”

John sighs, looking away. He wasn’t one to have many friends either; before this whole mess began he was quite a loner too. But there seems to be a difference between being alone out of your own free will and being alone due _unfortunate_ circumstances.

“I can’t help you with that,” he says finally, standing up. “You should go to sleep,” he adds, not daring to look in the other man’s direction, something inside him urging him to offer some comfort, but he does know better than that.

In the long run, _caring_ will do more harm than good.

As experience has proved over and over again.

* * *

 

He watches the Prince as he makes his way around the Castle. There’s no much _dusting_ being done, but it’s not like John actually expected him to clean. It’s obvious Sherlock never had to do anything for himself and he’s dreadful at housework, but he certainly tries if only to keep himself busy.

For both of their sakes though, John has decided food still needs to be magically made.

He’s fascinated by Sherlock’s apparent endless curiosity; the young man can spend hours staring at something, examining it from every possible angle before carefully depositing it back wherever he found it. He enjoys watching all the different expressions that cross his face and while John is willing to admit that all this _stalking_ can’t be healthy, he finds himself indescribably drawn towards the younger man. It’s all kinds of wrong and it’ll end badly, but-

He’s simply incapable of resisting the pull.

Sherlock is a puzzle that he can’t help wanting to solve, although he also thinks he won’t ever fully understand the man. For someone that has lived as long as John has, the idea is more than a bit thrilling.

And dangerous, of course.

He leans against the wall, watching Sherlock going through what he has come to think of as his Trophy Wall. An invisibility spell keeps John completely hidden, free to stare to his heart’s content. Still, he thinks that even without the spell Sherlock would be oblivious to his presence, far too focused on the small sphere in his hands. That’s actually quite dangerous and not to be handled carelessly, so John is happy to justify his staring as simple precaution.

The boy is a so unconventional, really. John doesn’t understand his eager surrender of his privileged life for the sake of peace; having dealt with far too many nobles, he knows how _selfish_ they can be. Of course he wanted to escape his engagement too, but that makes even less sense to John. After all, Princess Irene is well known all across the land not only for her beauty but for her keen intelligence. Having actually met the girl, John thinks she would have kept the Prince well entertained, seeing she’s just as smart as him.

Alas… here they are.

He doesn’t regret it, not exactly. He knows he walks a slippery line and that the slightest misstep will cost him dearly, but hope isn’t easy to give up, even after all these centuries. A part of him _knows_ hoping will only lead to disappointment, but there’s something about Sherlock that makes him want to take the chance; that makes him want to throw caution to the wind and dive headfirst into the dangerous waters.

Still, he’s cautious. It’s not just about him, of course. If his life was the only one at stake, he supposes he’d be far more willing to take risks, but with Rosie-

Well. Some risks are just not worth taking.

And yet-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Another short chapter, I’m afraid, but there’s not much happening here. As the plot moves along I’m hoping they’ll become longer and longer (also angstier, probably. But there shall be a happy ending!)  
> I hope nothing was horribly confusing? If so, let me know!  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Curiosity killed the cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock meets some of the other Castle's inhabitants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Took me a little while, but well… here we are!  
> Enjoy!

“Pretty, isn’t he?”

Sherlock turns around, startled by the sudden voice. There’s no one in the room with him, though and so he frowns, wondering if he has finally gone mad. He read somewhere people spending too much time alone sometimes start holding conversations with people that aren’t there, but this seems- weird.

“Not really my type,” another voice peeps in once he turns his attention back to the shelf he’s supposedly dusting (in truth, he’s trying to figure out what all the odd symbols engraved on the vases mean). “But yes, I suppose.”

He turns around once more, eyes narrowed, trying to spot where the voices are coming from. He had thought he and John were the only inhabitants of the Castle, but maybe he was wrong. It doesn’t really fit with what he knows about the wizard now, but he supposes he could have made a few miscalculations.

“Over here, handsome,” the first voice calls from the ceiling and he looks up, more than a little startled. He finds a pair of women perched at the top shelf of the nearby bookcase, both looking quite amused. “Oh, look at those eyes!” she tells her companion, grabbing her by the arm. “I’d have taken him as payment too!”

The second woman rolls her eyes dramatically and the other laughs merrily, throwing her head back. “What’s your name, plaything?”

Sherlock scowls, not liking her tone or her implication. He doesn’t answer, turning his attention back to the matter at hand, figuring he’s bound to learn more about the mysterious women if he doesn’t raise to their bait.

“Ah! Cute and smart! You see that, Mary? John got himself a good one.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees the blond woman frown, looking far from pleased now. “It won’t last,” she announces after a beat, her expression changing to one of absolute boredom. “Monsters aren’t meant to be loved.”

The other woman is pouting, looking annoyed at her companion’s words. “You’re so mean sometimes,” she comments off handedly, before turning her attention back to Sherlock shortly after. “But you’d know about that, I suppose,” she concedes after a couple of seconds.

“And who are you?” Sherlock questions, annoyed at their words. The women share a look and the blond one shrugs, gesturing for the other to make the necessary introductions.

“I’m Janine,” the first one presents herself, with a dramatic vow that looks odd due the fact she’s still sitting on the top shelf. “This is Mary,” she says, pointing at her companion who nods in acknowledgment but that seems thoroughly bored with their conversation now. “And we’re fairies!”

Fairies. He should have known. “What are you doing here?” he asks, honestly curious despite himself. The enmity between the Dark One and the leader of the fairies is well known, although no one seems to know the reason behind their mutual dislike.

“We’re trapped,” Mary answers, tone full of bitterness and something in Sherlock aches, but he doesn’t understand why. “As you’ll be, if you don’t watch your steps, little Prince.”

Sherlock frowns. “I made a deal to stay forever,” he argues as calmly as he can. Something in Mary’s tone puts him on edge, although he can’t pinpoint what exactly is bothering him. “So I guess you could say I’m already trapped.” Not that he feels that way, mind, but-

Mary laughs, an horrible sound that makes Sherlock’s skin crawl. “You know nothing, you foolish child,” she says and he can feel the magic radiating from her now, something ancient and _dark_ permeating the air and making it hard to breath. “You should run while you still can.”

Despite his growing nerves, Sherlock holds his ground. “I made a deal.”

The fairy huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Janine is looking at her companion with something like pity in her eyes and she pats her arm awkwardly. “Heed our advice, little Prince,” she says, eyes still fixed on the other fairy. “Stay away from Dark One.”

Well, he’s doing a fine job of staying away from Sherlock, so he thinks that counts for something. “No,” Mary deadpans, startling him and making him wonder if fairies can read thoughts. “ _You_ stay away from him. Monsters don’t deserve love, but they crave it,” she warns darkly. “Don’t be stupid and fall into his trap.”

And with that both women disappear in a puff of bright pink smoke, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts and endless questions.

Now he’s even more curious about his mysterious host.

And much more determined to get to know him better.

* * *

 

The Castle is huge, with long halls that seem to never end. It’s ridiculously easy to get lost in the many rooms, but Sherlock doesn’t particularly mind since he always finds something to entertain himself with at any given place he ends up in. He doubts that even if he was serious about this cleaning business he’d manage to keep the place spotless and he supposes that’s why John doesn’t bother to check his progress.

He’s become familiar with certain rooms, though. His own, of course and what seems to be the wizard’s study. He’s more than a little puzzled by the amount of dried flowers in there and the many experiments he seems to run on them, although he hasn’t asked about it. Then again, John seems all too eager to flee the room whenever he happens to enter, so there’s that too.

It’s weird how… wary the older man seems of him, almost as if Sherlock was the all powerful, supposedly immortal wizard instead of the other way around. The fairies’ words resonate in his mind, but it just seems so strange-

It’s curious, really. And of course the more John attempts to avoid him, the more he wants to get to know him. He supposes the insolation doesn’t help either, but he _knows_ it’s not only that. With so many trinkets to observe and analyze and try to figure out, Sherlock has plenty to entertain himself with, so under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even notice the lack of other people.

But the wizard intrigues him and makes him want to know more, _to understand more._ And maybe it’s a bad idea and maybe the fairies are right and his endless curiosity will lead to nothing but trouble and yet-

What does it say about him the fact that he doesn’t care as long as he manages to solve the puzzle?

Sherlock has been accused of being reckless more than once. He’ll admit he is, mostly because he doesn’t think about consequences when he’s after answers. And on this particular case, he doesn’t see why it should matter. The fairies said he’ll end up trapped, but he sort of is already: he’s never going to leave this place so really, what’s the worst that could happen?

And he must admit there’s a certain _allure_ in not heeding the females’ advice. He finds John intriguing and fascinating and he thinks that is as good of a basis for a relationship as it gets. Of course he thinks the whole _love_ thing might be an exaggeration, because while he’d admit to certain attraction, he has always believed love is far away from his emotional range.

He might be wrong, of course, but it seems like a very slim possibility.

Well, he supposes time will tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> We’re getting to the plotty bits, I swear! Also there shall be more romance soon- soonish, at the very least :P  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m sorry for the late update; my computer died on the line of duty and well… it took me slightly longer than anticipated ;)  
> Enjoy?

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Sherlock doesn’t look up from his careful measuring of ingredients and John frowns, not used to being ignored. People tend to get promptly intimidated the minute he walks into a room and his voice usually commands the attention of everyone in the near vicinity, but Sherlock seems pretty immune to it.

“Sherlock,” he calls, keeping his voice down but with a threatening edge. “I said,  _ what are you doing _ ?”

The Prince hums, apparently finishing with what he’s doing and he looks up then, a small smile playing on his lips and John hurries to ignore the fluttering of his stomach at the sight. “I’m doing an experiment!” he announces proudly, signaling at the assembly of ingredients and vials placed all over the table.

“What?” John asks very eloquently, trying to keep a scowl on his face but not really succeeding; his companion’s excitement unfairly adorable. In truth, it should be illegal to look as endearing as he does in this moment.

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically, in a gesture that clearly says he thinks John should know what he meant. “I’m trying to replicate this,” he says, pointing at a book now practically hidden beneath the mess he has made over the desk. John notices it seems to be from one of his earlier archives (he used to write quite a lot at first) and frowns.

“That’s magic,” he points out and Sherlock rolls his eyes once more.

“I know,” the Prince deadpans, the  _ obviously  _ implied. “But it doesn’t look particularly complicated and I did say it was an experiment, didn’t I? I wanted to see if I was capable of replicating the potion without having any magic myself. I know it’s supposedly impossible, but I thought-”

John however, has already tuned him out. The boy is evidently too curious for his own sake and he’s bound to get in trouble if John doesn’t keep a close eye on him (and that of course has nothing to do with John’s quickly developing stalking hobby) “And who told you you could peek into my books, not to mention  _ experiment  _ in my lab?”

The Prince looks at him, clearly unimpressed by his tone and John thinks it’s no wonder he spent so much time on his own even back home: he doesn’t think many would appreciate being constantly told they’re being dense, either in actual words or by simple looks.

“You didn’t say I  _ couldn’t, _ ” Sherlock points out calmly. “And you haven’t given me any new duties in  _ months.  _ There’s only so much  _ dusting  _ one can do before being bored to death.”

John scowls. “As I said before, keeping you  _ entertained _ wasn’t part of our deal.”

“No, but you said I had to stay with you forever, so I thought that keeping you company  _ was part of the deal. _ ”

John blinks, the statement making his heart race for reasons he doesn’t care to analyze. “What?”

The younger man huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought- well, you’re an all powerful wizard, but I figured you might be-” He shrugs non committedly, now looking sheepish. “I thought keeping you company would be far more interesting than staying home. But you- you keep disappearing on me and I don’t- I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

He sounds honestly frustrated and John finds himself wondering if the Prince truly spent so much time alone because  _ he wanted to.  _ He’s beginning to think that the answer is  _ no _ , but rather he was so often ostracised by his peers that he simply decided being alone was preferable than trying to fit in.

And with John, maybe he was hoping-

A foolish hope, he promptly tells himself. John might be  _ odd,  _ living for so long and so damn  _ alone  _ will do that to you, but he’s not- he can’t be-

God, this was a  _ terrible, terrible  _ idea.

He realizes they’ve been standing in silence for far too long and forces himself to look away from Sherlock’s hopeful expression, reminding himself exactly  _ why _ attempting to  _ befriend  _ the other man would be a bad idea.

“Just be careful,” he says softly, stubbornly looking at anything in the room but Sherlock. “You wouldn’t want to blow the whole place off, would you?”

And with that he hurries out of the room, reminding himself he can’t afford to care.

That will lead to nothing but disaster.

* * *

 

“You have to give him cookie points for keep on trying.”

John forces himself to take a deep breath and not growl at the newcomer. The woman lets out a huff and John can hear her rummaging through his cabinets, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the book he’s reading, refusing to acknowledge her.

“He’s certainly stubborn,” she continues, coming to sit on the plush chair right in front of his (the one Sherlock likes to curl in when he’s at the library reading) and he can’t hold back a low growl. The woman smirks, twirling a long lock of her red hair around her finger, amused at John’s obvious anger. “I think I rather like him.”

“You’re not welcome here,” John murmurs darkly, glaring at her. She shrugs, leaning back on her seat and John has to fight back another growl. “Leave,  _ now. _ ”

“Or what?” she asks calmly, still playing with her hair and not looking at him directly. “You’re in no position to threaten me, John dear. Or have you forgotten what’s at stake?”

John growls again, standing up and turning away from her. She smiles, watching him closely. “What I don’t understand,” she says thoughtfully after a long pause. “Is why you’re trying to push him away. He could be the answer to all your prayers.”

John laughs bitterly at that. “Monsters like me have no business praying.”

The woman hums, standing up in one fluent elegant movement, her brown eyes shining with mischief. “You have spent far too much time on your own,” she comments almost off handedly, going to stand by the window. “Coincidences do not exist, John. The boy didn’t cross your path and made you a deal just because.”

He half turns to her. “I don’t understand your game.”

She shrugs, pushing her long hair back. “It’s not for you to understand,” she says calmly and something about her calm tone makes John want to snap at her, but he figures there’s really no use on that. He already knows how that will end.

They stand in silence for the longest time, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, the woman turns and heads towards the door. “Think about it,” she says as she leaves and John closes his eyes, keeping them that way until he can no longer hear the woman’s steps on the empty halls.

He doesn’t have to think about it.

And after tonight’s  _ visit  _ he’s more determined than ever to stay away from the Prince.

But he understands the boy’s loneliness and he’s determined to fix that.

It’s the least he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> “Fun” fact: when coming up with who would be John’s mysterious visitor, I decided on this one first. Then I started writing and wondered why not change her to Irene (I love Irene so bloody much) but then I remembered Sherlock was engaged to her originally and that just wasn’t going to work :P I do like the surprise factor of this particular “guest”, but well- I don’t really write her often and I’m worried she’ll seem way OOC when all is said and done.  
> Although I shouldn’t probably tell you more, or I’ll risk ruining the “surprise”! (maybe you already have some suspicions?)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	5. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I swear we’re getting the “romance” part. You might have also noticed the rating change: that’s for mild smut on the following chapter (or the one after that, depending on whose POV it ends up working better with) although I can’t promise it’ll be very good, I shall try my best!  
> In the meantime, enjoy!

_ He could have simply said no, _ Sherlock thinks angrily as he makes his way up the ridiculously difficult path leading towards the Castle’s entrance.  _ He could have simply named any other price. But nooooo; he says yes and then he doesn’t know how to get rid of me. _

He huffs, throwing the door open dramatically, ignoring the loud noise it makes. He’s tired, cold and drenched; he’s certainly in no mood to bother with  _ politeness _ . As far as he’s concerned, if John has a problem with him making a lot of noise, he can-

“What happened?” the wizard asks, appearing out of thin air, taking in Sherlock’s dreadful appearance and sour mood. The Prince glares, dropping the bags his carrying and spilling their contents all over the foyer.

“What happened?” he parrots darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _What happened?_ Oh, nothing much! Except the town _you abandoned me_ _in_ happens to be _miles away_ and the road leading back here is half abandoned and you- you-”

“I did say I’d come back for you later,” John murmurs, looking more confused than anything else, apparently not understanding the reason behind Sherlock’s fury. 

“Yes, 3 days ago!” Sherlock exclaims, frustrated. “Did you intend to leave me there indefinitely?”

John frowns, his face betraying his utter confusion. “I thought- Well, you did say you were lonely.”

Sherlock groans. “And you interpreted that as  _ please leave me alone as far away from you as possible _ ?”

“You weren’t alone,” the other protests softly, still not seeing what the fuss is about. 

Sherlock growls, pushing his way past the wizard, irritated. Why can’t he understand that it’s not  _ anyone _ ’s company he’s craving, but solely  _ his _ ? What does he need to do to get John to understand that he wants- he wants-

Well. He’s not sure  _ what exactly  _ he wants, but being closer to the wizard should help him figure it out.

Now, if only the man wasn’t so determined to push him away-

Luckily, Sherlock just doesn’t know how to give up.

* * *

 

The warmth coming from the fireplace does little to improve his dark mood, but at least he’s dry now. The tea that magically appeared next to him helped to warm him too, although he feels dreadfully cold inside.

He was never very social, preferring his own company most of the time. People were dull and so horribly cruel and he hated having to watch his every word and move when in company; always afraid of doing/saying the wrong thing and so he had eventually decided it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

This is different, though. He feels every single one of John’s rejections like a physical blow and he  _ aches.  _ He sighs, curling into himself, hugging his knees close. He doesn’t understand this pull and he doesn’t understand why John insists on fighting it; surely he feels it too, doesn’t he? Or maybe that’s exactly the issue. Maybe-

He closes his eyes, telling himself he’s being silly. Just because he has spent most of his life misinterpreting emotions, particularly when they involve other people, it doesn’t mean that that’s the case here. He’s certain he’s not alone in this.

He can’t be.

* * *

 

“You just don’t have any survival instinct, do you?” 

Sherlock hums in acknowledgment, not looking up from the notes he’s reading. John has a curious assortment of notes of his earlier experiments and even if half of the time Sherlock doesn’t truly understand the use of the spells and/or potions described, he does enjoy reading them. Besides, he fancies it gives him some sense of insight of the wizard’s thoughts.

Janine huffs, dropping herself on the armrest. She usually switches to a larger,  _ human  _ size when she decides on an impromptu visit, but today she’s in her usual fairy size, which makes her far easier to ignore.

“Stop ignoring me!” she exclaims, pulling at his hair suddenly, so harshly that it makes Sherlock wince.

“I’m reading,” he protests, glaring at her. “Where’s Mary? Why can’t she keep you entertained?”

The couple of fairies and their backstory intrigue him greatly, but neither is willing to share much about it. Mary actually seems to actively avoid him, while Janine does seek his company from time to time, although they don’t actually talk much.

Janine shrugs, playing with a lock of her hair. “She’s having a bad day,” she murmurs, looking sad. “She wanted to be alone,” she adds miserably.

Sherlock sighs. He supposes he can indulge the fairy, if only because he understands how... awful it can be being ignored by the one person you want their full attention. “Why do you say I have no survival instinct?”

Janine lights up immediately, always too eager to discuss Sherlock’s…  _ relationship  _ with their  _ host.  _ “Well- not many would dare to  _ snap  _ at the Dark One.”

The Prince rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “He abandoned me in the middle of nowhere.”

“He left you at a human town,” the fairy argues back calmly. “After all this time, one would think you’d be eager to spend time with people like you.” She smiles mysteriously, looking pleased with herself. “You however, seemed all too eager to come back.”

“I like it here,” Sherlock protests with a small shrug. “People- humans- can be so  _ dull _ .”

“Which means we aren’t?” Janine questions, batting her eyelashes playfully. “Or just John isn’t?”

He doesn’t find the fairy dull, but he must admit he doesn’t find her anywhere near as interesting as the wizard. “What do you think?”

“I think you weren’t listening when we first talked to you,” Janine says, her tone serious but she’s smirking. “We warned you against getting  _ too close  _ to the Dark One.”

Sherlock huffs. “Mary certainly did. You seemed to agree with her and yet you have only encouraged me to  _ pursue him  _ ever since.” And isn’t that more than a little curious? It’s not like he’d heed her advice either way, although he can’t help wondering-

“Mary and John… well. Too much history between them,” she replies, her tone slightly wistful. “The curse is a sore subject with her. She’s still too- angry, I think, to look at this objectively. And maybe a little jealous, I suppose.” She looks more than a little pained at that and Sherlock can’t help frowning.

This isn’t the first time the female has made an allusion to some curse, but she refuses to elaborate on the subject. Not that Sherlock minds particularly; he has always liked puzzles and he’s determined to figure this one out, even if everyone is being more than a little uncooperative.

“What exactly do I have to do with this curse?” he asks, taking care to not sound overly eager. When Janine gets distracted by her own sad thoughts, it’s easier to pry some information from her, but if he’s not careful about it, she realizes what he’s doing and simply disappears.

Janine blinks and Sherlock curses internally. Damn it, she has realized what she has said and now- 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asks, a smirk spreading across her lips. “I can’t tell you, though. I literally can’t,” she adds.

Oh. A silencing spell. Intriguing, really. “Not even a small clue? Who casted the curse?”

Janine opens her mouth to answer and promptly snaps it shut. She makes a face, displeased, but finally shrugs, shaking her head once. “I’m hopeful, though,” she comments, almost in an afterthought. “I do think the curse days are counted.”

Sherlock hums. 

He doesn’t know how to answer that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I’m hoping next update won’t take me long, but I have yet to decide whose POV I’m going to use. Also, what I have already written feels weird somehow, but I’m not sure what’s bothering me, so there’s that…  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?


	6. Unexpected turns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I tried something a bit different from my usual style at the end (meaning I tried to write some mild smut). It works somewhat, but I feel it’s pretty obvious when exactly I freaked out and cut the idea short. I just- well, I have never written actual smut and I wanted to try something slightly more explicit, but… I don’t know.  
> Anyway… I hope you’ll enjoy it!

The utter silence is more than a little unnerving.

John puts his book down, listening closely for any sign of trouble. He feels anxious, unnerved. The silence is not natural, nor is the darkness that seems to have fallen just outside the Castle. He stands up and goes to the window, peering outside, brow furrowed.

He sighs as the watches a carriage approaching. There are no horses pulling it, nor a driver, so he immediately knows the identity of his visitor. He ignores the shiver running down his spine, telling himself his nervous reaction is completely ridiculous.

The carriage stops and the door opens dramatically, but no one steps out. John rolls his eyes at all the unnecessary drama and heads towards the receiving room. He keeps his steps short and measured, not allowing any of his uneasiness to show. He doesn’t like his visitor, not one bit, but at least it’s not  _ her. _

Then again, this particular visitor is a monster of his own creation, so he supposes he really has no right to complain about him. He makes a face, thinking that loneliness and desperation truly have lead him to making the poorest decisions.

The thought brings memories of Sherlock’s anger from the other night, but he hurries to dismiss the thought. He’s still confused about the Prince’s outburst and he doesn’t understand what went so monumentally wrong. He had thought he’d be pleased of  _ seeing  _ and  _ talking to _ other people; it simply didn’t occur him he would want to come back so soon.

He actually had been sort of hoping he wouldn’t want to.

With each passing day, it’s getting more and more complicated  to keep fighting this… pull, even if he keeps telling himself it’s for the best. His treacherous heart ignores all his logic and if things carry on like this-

Well. There’s no telling what might happen next.

He throws open the heavy doors with a flick of his hand, deciding a bit of dramatics of his own might not go amiss. The idea vanishes as soon as his eyes land on the room’s occupants though, suddenly seeing red, anger and  _ jealousy  _ overwhelming everything else.

“Ah, John!” his visitor exclaims pleasantly, as if he isn’t aware of John’s raised temper, hand still  _ casually  _ placed over Sherlock’s arm. “I didn’t know you had gotten yourself a pet! A very pretty one, I might add,” he says cheerfully, eyes sweeping over Sherlock’s body. The Prince looks unnerved, but doesn’t move and John growls, releasing him from the freezing spell with a simple wave.

The other man pouts dramatically. “Oh, you’re no fun at all,” he protests while Sherlock hurries to John’s side. A ridiculous part of him is awfully pleased at that, although his logical side argues that there’s really nowhere else for the little Prince to run. “We were just having a bit of harmless fun!”

“You’ll keep your hands off my property,” John argues darkly, every possessive instinct in his body urging him to stake his claim, even if, in his most lucid moments, he doesn’t think of Sherlock as property.  _ Then again,  _ his dark side argues,  _ you did deal for him. _

He growls impatiently. He has no time to waste arguing with himself, really.

“Fine,” the other wizard declares, waving his hand. “As you will,” he adds, a bright smirk on his lips, eyes still glued to Sherlock’s form. John takes a step, coming to stand between them and the other man’s smirk widens dangerously.

“What are you doing here, Moriarty?”

The man’s smug smirk vanishes for a beat, but he recovers quickly. “It’s a rather- delicate matter, I’m afraid. I was hoping we could discuss it in private.” He eyes Sherlock meaningfully and John is only too happy to send the Prince away.

The farther away he’s from the Evil King, the better.

* * *

 

Once the other wizard has left, John allows himself to collapse in one of the big comfy chairs in the receiving room, eyes fixed on the fireplace. Accepting to train Moriarty in the first place has to be one of his biggest mistakes and so he’s not quite sure  _ why  _ he continues offering his help. Of course it’s always useful to have powerful people owing you favours, particularly when you’re kind-of in war with the fairy kingdom and therefore all the light magic users, but-

The man is a serpent, likely to turn on him any given day. He’s always very careful in his dealings with him, of course, but tonight he just felt wrong footed. He finds himself growling once more as he recalls the wizard’s hand on  _ his _ Sherlock’s arm, possessiveness quickly overcoming his every sense.

The Prince is his and he refuses to share.

The strength of the thought and the surge of magic that accompanies it startles him. He’s always been possessive, even when he didn’t have his magic, but ever since he took the Dark One’s curse-

He bites his lip. It’s more than a little dangerous and the slightest slip could be deadly, particularly for the subject of his desire. It scares him how strongly he feels; how much the thought rings true. He had been entertaining ideas of letting Sherlock go, of finding a way to send him away that would not feel like a breach of their contract and therefore wouldn’t have dire consequences on the Prince or his Kingdom. After tonight however-

It’s not right. Deep down, he knows it’s not healthy to feel this way. Deep down, he’s fairly certain he shouldn’t feel this way.

And yet-

* * *

 

Sherlock is sitting at the library, curled in his favorite chair, a book on his lap while he scribbles notes furiously on a piece a paper. John finds himself breathing easier after seeing him and making sure he’s still here, perfectly safe and  _ still his  _ but-

He’s not really his, is he? He’s- more like a prisoner, really. Their contract has robbed him of making any choices; he has to stay with John no matter what. And of course they never quite discussed what his stay would imply, so-

He shakes his head furiously, shoving the thought away. He’s not going to do  _ that.  _ No matter how fascinating and  _ attractive  _ he finds the young Prince, he’s simply not that kind of monster.

_ Oh, but think about it! The possibilities… they’re simply endless! He’s here, at your complete mercy… _

He clenches his fists, fighting off the intrusive thoughts that are his and not his at the same time. The Dark One’s curse brings forward his darkest thoughts from time to time, inciting him to act on them and while he can usually resist the allure-

_ Just look at him. Look at him. He wouldn’t even resist! He wants it nearly as much as you do. _

Deep breaths. The key is to keep breathing and try thinking of something (anything) else. He tells himself he needs to turn around and head towards his own room; lock himself there until this  _ dark urge  _ passes. He should, he really should, but-

“John?”

He wonders how long has he been standing there, just fighting his own self. He thinks the answer is  _ far too long,  _ particularly taking into consideration Sherlock’s concerned look, not to mention the fact that the Prince has come to stand right in front of him without him truly noticing.

“What-?” the Prince begins, but doesn’t get to complete his question. John isn’t really aware of having pushed him against the wall, effectively pining him despite their height difference. The younger man lets out a little helpless moan and he’s completely lost, pressing closer to him, as close as possible, until it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Sherlock throws his head back, still making those pretty little sounds and John wants  _ more.  _ As his other side predicted, the Prince isn’t even trying to fight him off, but instead encourages him to press closer, to kiss him deeper, to simply do with him as he wishes.

It’s a heady feeling.

“You’re very imprudent, little Prince,” he murmurs between bites (because that can’t be called kissing, not when it’s bruising and will no doubt leave marks all over the other man’s pale skin). “Inviting monsters into your bed.”

“I haven’t invited you into my bed,” the other argues softly, but there’s no actual protest in his tone; rather he seems to be  _ flirting  _ and that does all sort of things to John.

He growls, moving to kiss down the Prince’s long throat. “I don’t think we’d make it to the bed, anyway,” he murmurs between kisses and Sherlock giggles, a high nervous sound that shouldn’t excite him half as much as it does. “The rug will have to do.”

Another giggle interrupted by a moan as he carefully maneuvers them towards the rug in front of the fireplace. It won’t be very comfortable and he distantly thinks it’s far from a romantic first time, certainly less than what his little Prince deserves, but he can’t spare a second to think of any alternatives. He lies his companion on the floor, not stopping the string of kisses. A part of him thinks he really  _ really  _ should have thought this better, but it’s hard to keep a cool head when his companion is making those noises and reacting so positively to each of his touches.

He has the distinct impression that this will effectively screw up his plan of staying away from the Prince.

He also believes he couldn’t care less.

The kisses are more than a bit messy and sloppy, the Prince’s inexperience showing. He had known he was a virgin, but the implications hadn’t really hit him until now. It’s just natural, he supposes, considering he had been quite convinced he wasn’t going to act on his attraction and also convinced the younger man wouldn’t react this positively even if he attempted anything.

He’s now wondering why he ever thought such thing.

He’s never been very good at self control, although he does try. In the past, his lack of thinking about consequences has lead him to make entirely wrong,  _ selfish _ decisions and so he has endeavored to do better. One does not get to live for centuries without learning a thing or two.

All those thoughts however have fled his mind. Sherlock makes another little noise and he finds it impossible to even  _ think.  _ The Prince obviously doesn’t even know what he  _ wants _ , let alone what he  _ needs _ and yet he seems  _ so eager,  _ having locked his legs around John’s waist, so keeping their bodies close together, the friction delicious but maddening.

It won’t be enough for much longer. They need to be naked right now.

John supposes he could technically use magic to get rid off all these inconvenient clothes, not to mention make his companion ready for other activities, but there’s something decidedly more intimate about doing things by himself. There’s no finesse, of course and both of their clothing will never again be of any use, considering how little care he puts on the undressing, but that’s of no concern. Sherlock’s insistence of not letting go complicate the matters further, but he can’t bring himself to really pull apart either, so he supposes he understands.

Somewhat. Some things. Not most of it, really.

The lack of light certainly helps to hide his odd appearance a little, but he imagines the scaled texture must be very notorious in the parts where their actual skin is touching. The long taloned nails must be slightly hurtful at least and although he tries not to put much pressure on his touches, it can’t be entirely pleasant. You’d never guess that by the sounds his companion makes, nor by the way he moves, encouraging him to continue, making pained whimpering noises when John pulls away a little, even if it’s only to continue getting rid of their clothes.

By the time he has managed to get his partner mostly naked, he’s seriously regretting the poor light the burning fireplace provides. He runs his fingers down Sherlock’s sides, prompting a surprised cuckle from his companion. He leans down to press open mouthed kisses to his chest, lingering on his nipples and Sherlock doesn’t actually moan at this, simply letting out soft pleased sighs that are somehow a thousand times more erotic than his wanton moans.

Oh, the Prince is going to be the death of him.

Not that he can bring himself to care at the moment. Sherlock keeps pushing his hips upwards, searching for friction and it’s slowly driving John mad. They’re both still wearing pants, but divesting themselves of them would require for them to actually pull away, even if just for a moment and the thought seems intolerable. Sherlock pulls at the fabric uselessly, more in frustration than in an actual attempt to remove them and John figures something needs to be done about that, although his lust addled brain seems incapable of coming up with an answer to their dilemma.

“Oh god,” Sherlock murmurs, finally pushing him off and John freezes, the ugly monster of his fears and insecurities rearing its head. However he promptly notices the other man has simply gotten frustrated enough with their pants to actually do something about it and so he watches mesmerized as Sherlock stands up and pushes his pants down, before discarding them carelessly, nearly toppling over him in his eagerness, giggling nervously as John helps to stabilize him.

He sits down once more, gesturing at John impatiently to finish getting undressed too. John would comply, really, if he had enough presence of mind, but his brain seems to have short circuited at the sight in front of him.

Sherlock blushes, but huffs impatiently, attempting to take matters into his own hands. He’s very obviously aroused and it might be slightly uncomfortable at this point and John making him wait, sitting there and staring uselessly isn’t helping one bit but he really,  _ really  _ can’t focus on any other thing that’s not admiring the beautiful Prince.

“If I had known it was this easy to get you to sit still-” Sherlock murmurs under his breath, finally succeeding on sliding John’s pants off, as the wizard continues to simply stare at him. He stills his movements then though, looking a bit unnerved now and John blinks, his brain finally catching up with what’s happening.

His companion is biting his lip, probably nervous, but John can’t help to find the gesture quite charming. He kisses him again, once more rearranging themselves on the floor, so he’s lying on top of the younger male. Sherlock’s eyes are very wide now, pupils blown by lust, but John can tell there’s some nervousness lurking in the back of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, biting gently onto his companion’s neck, making him moan once more before sucking his earlobe softly. “I’ll make it good for you.” Sherlock moans once more at the promise, arching towards him, fingers digging into John’s hips, urging him to press closer. John chuckles, kissing him on the lips, slowly and leisurely, taking his time, ignoring Sherlock’s increasingly desperate body’s cues to  _ just get on with it. _

He knows the Prince isn’t going to last much longer, in any case; he’s already quite overwhelmed with the little bits and nips, not to mention John’s tantalizing roll of his hips. He’d really want to take his time and take the younger man apart piece by piece, but he supposes that for now, this will do. He’s quite eager himself and it’s been awhile since he’s done this, so he doesn’t think he has patience for more and he doesn’t want to hurt Sherlock.

They move in tandem, finally having found a rhythm that works for them. There are a hundred things John would like to try, but right now he doesn’t think he has enough presence of mind to try anything that involves any more coordination from his part. All his longing and desire and  _ denial _ working against him, making it impossible to concentrate in anything other than the sweet and building pleasure.

The ending is more sweet than mind blowing, as he slows down the movements of his hips, kissing his partner thoroughly. Still, Sherlock makes the most delightful sound as he comes, head thrown back, eyes tightly shut, mouth completely slack under John’s ministrations.

He pulls away a little, glancing down at his companion’s blissed out expression and he smiles before Sherlock pulls him into another languid kiss, full of promise.

All in all, a very satisfying ending.

Or maybe it’s a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> That last part- well, I don’t know. I like it, but it’s not very smutty and it’s not even close to what I wanted, but as I said, I panicked.  
> I’m worried this chapter’s pace is weird. Does it feel out of nowhere, did things move a little too fast? Did it make sense at all? Please let me know!  
> I actually wasn’t planning on using Jim in this fic, but well… he wrote himself in and found himself a nice part to play, so… there’s that. If you’re familiar with OUAT, you might have a clue of the role he’ll ultimately play seeing he’s the Evil King, although… well. You’ll see, I suppose :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	7. Not love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m terribly sorry about the late update but well… I hope you’ll enjoy it regardless!

The morning light is just beginning to slip through the curtains when Sherlock wakes up.

He blinks, sleepily looking around him, feeling oddly light. His whole body feels completely boneless and he feels a deep sense of satisfaction and contentment, though he can’t exactly pinpoint why. He yawns, stretching out, smiling brightly at nothing in particular.

That’s when bits and pieces of the night before start coming to his mind and he blushes furiously, his memory slowly coming back.

Oh god. That was-

He smiles happily to himself, lying down once more, hands placed behind his head. He understands this content feeling now and he thinks he rather looks forward to waking up like this for a very long while.

Although he’d prefer if John was lying next to him, if he must be honest.

He frowns, thinking of the wizard’s cold dismissal once the afterglow had passed. Of course Sherlock had been too tired and frankly too well-satisfied to really think or worry about it last night, but in the light of the new day-

No. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. It’ll only succeed in ruining his mood and John probably meant nothing by it. The wizard’s mood is everchanging and so Sherlock shouldn’t take it personally. He probably had other things to do rather than cuddle with Sherlock to sleep. Of course, he thinks it would only have been  _ polite _ considering-

He scowls darkly. There goes his good mood.

“Good morning!” someone greets cheerfully, making him jump, entirely taken by surprise. The newcomer looks at him worriedly, eyes wide open. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she apologises earnestly, covering her mouth with her hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

He wants to say she didn’t  _ startle  _ him, mostly out of pride, but he figures it’s of little use to lie. The newcomer’s voice had taken him by surprise, not having been expecting any company any time soon.

Although he wouldn’t oppose to John showing up now and-

Ugh. What’s wrong with him now? He needs to get his mind out of the gutter, honestly.

His visitor smiles shyly, playing with a lock of her red hair. Sherlock just observes her in silence, taking her in and wondering who is this new fairy and why she decided to show up now.

“I’m Molly,” she introduces herself awkwardly, once the silence has stretched for far too long. “I- umm- see, the thing is… umm… I am… I sort of…” She bites her lip gently, looking quite nervous. “I just wanted to ask how are you feeling?”

Sherlock blinks, confused. “Fine, I suppose?”

She makes a face, scrunching her nose. “Last night must have been- John’s dismissal was- What I meant to say is- are you feeling… well?”

This has to be the most awkward conversation Sherlock has ever had. “I suppose?”

She huffs. “He’s a little thick headed,” she tells him, patting his hand. “More than a little, actually. But he’ll come around, you’ll see.”

Sherlock nods. He doesn’t understand why the fairy is trying to reassure him, but he does appreciate it. Somewhat. “How is that we hadn’t met before? Are you trapped here like Mary and Janine?”

Molly scrunches her nose once more. “In a sense, I suppose,” she replies thoughtfully, eyes fixed on a point on the wall. “You could say I’m quite…  _ committed  _ to seeing the curse broken.”

Sherlock stares at her curiously. “What-?”

“I should be leaving,” she interrupts him abruptly, an apologetic smile on her lips. “It was nice officially meeting you, Sherlock. I’ll see you around.”

And with that she’s gone in a puff of blue smoke.

Just what the hell was that about?

* * *

 

Sherlock walks around the empty halls of the Castle, feeling somewhere between angry and frustrated. It’s very obvious John is avoiding him now and he’s angry that the notion  _ stings  _ so painfully. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up really; it had been absolutely  _ idiotic  _ of him to think something had changed.

Evidently last night had been a mistake and now John is going to avoid him forever.

He sighs, collapsing on the big chair in the receiving room. He’s hurt, of course and he can’t help feeling like he’s been... used and discarded like a piece of garbage, even if he’s quite certain John didn’t mean it like that. He has learned the wizard is somehow even worse than him at expressing himself and so he’s constantly telling himself not to take anything personally.

Still-

Last night had been... magical, honestly. It might sound horribly cliched, but it had certainly felt that way. He had enjoyed their encounter quite a lot, even if he had felt slightly overwhelmed at points. But John had been so sweet and so caring and he had thought-

Foolish, really. He has always known that lust clouds people’s brains, making them do and say stupid things. He should have known it wasn’t anything other than sex, that it didn’t mean a single thing. Just some nice, pleasant moments shared between two willing partners and nothing else.

It certainly had nothing to do with  _ feelings. _

He scoffs, getting more and more angry with himself. God, he’s such a  _ child _ . Mistaking hormones for sentiment, really? He should have known better than that. He’s much too  _ logical  _ to have missed all the obvious signs.

And yet-

He closes his eyes, tears stinging the back of his eyelids. He’s not crying; he’s not! There’s no reason to get this emotional, no reason at all. It’s not like- they didn’t even- he shouldn’t-

He growls, abruptly standing up and starts pacing around the room. He feels like a caged animal: angry but trapped and so incapable of doing a damn thing. He needs- he wants-

He stops on his tracks, noticing something lying beneath the comfy chair. He kneels down, picking the item up, a mighty frown on his face.

It’s an apple. A perfectly round, red, delicious-looking apple.

How did it end up here?

He shrugs, figuring he might as well take it to the kitchen. No use in letting a perfectly edible apple go to waste.

* * *

 

The sound of the door slamming open startles him out of his restless slumber. He had installed himself on his usual chair at the library, assuming John would show up sooner or later there. There and his study are the only places Sherlock knows for a fact the wizard frequents and so it had seemed perfectly logical to wait here.

Now though-

He’s out of the chair and at John’s side without even noticing. There’s a nasty gash on John’s forehead that’s dripping blood all over the carpet. Other than that the wizard looks perfectly fine, but the amount of blood makes Sherlock nervous.

“What happened?” he demands and John’s head snaps up. He had been muttering to himself, sounding more annoyed than in pain and seems quite startled by Sherlock’s presence.

Sherlock huffs, annoyed by John’s lack of answer and proceeds to push the wizard towards the chair, forcing him to sit down. The gash does look rather nasty and he makes a face before going looking for some water and something to clean the wound with.

When he comes back John is still sitting where he left him, inspecting the wound in a small mirror he has made appear in front of him. Sherlock goes to him and proceeds to clean the blood, ignoring the way John seems to recoil at his touch.

Nothing like last night, definitely.

“What happened?” he repeats, gently prodding the injury. It seems to be healing already on its own, but there’s still blood running down from it at alarming speed. 

John waves a hand vaguely. “Angry mob,” he replies simply. “It’s of no concern. It’s closing already.”

Sherlock frowns, wondering how exactly that happened and who would be stupid enough to even  _ consider  _ attacking the Dark One. “And your attackers?”

John shrugs non committedly and Sherlock decides not to ask further questions and contents himself with continuing cleaning the blood. Since the wound is still bleeding it doesn’t do a lot of good, but it’s something to do and it makes the tension between them slightly more bearable.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he accuses softly after a long while, tone low, trying to sound dispassionate, not allowing his anger and pain to show.

John sighs. “Last night was... It won’t happen again.”

“Why?” Sherlock finds himself asking, although that’s not quite what he wants to say. 

John looks at him, apparently surprised by his question. Sherlock forces himself to hold the wizard’s stare, despite the fact that he feels oddly vulnerable and perhaps a tad… worried.

“You don’t know what you’re offering, little Prince,” John warns softly, but he’s already pulling Sherlock closer and the younger man is all too happy to comply. The atmosphere is loaded with promise and he smiles a bit shakily, willing but nervous.

“I think I have a very good idea,” Sherlock argues, positioning himself on John’s lap, straddling him. He’s perhaps shaking a bit, but promptly tells himself to stop with that nonsense. He does want this, even if it’s not all he would want.

The wizard’s hands rest on his hips, the pressure gentle. If Sherlock tried to stand up, he knows John would let him go and not say a word about it ever again, but nervous as he might be, he can’t imagine renouncing to this. It’s not love and it’ll never be, but if that’s all he can have, he’ll happily take it.

Besides, he promised to stay with the wizard forever, so he’ll try to make the best out of it.

He leans down to kiss John, who might as well be frozen, considering how stiffly he holds himself. The kiss is slow and languid, not dissimilar to those at the end of their last encounter. He feels a spark of… something. He’d describe it as electricity and it leaves his lips tingling, but it’s certainly not unpleasant. He pulls back slowly, just to gaze at his partner’s face for a beat and isn’t quite sure what to make of John’s expression. He has no much time to think about it though, as the wizard surges forward, kissing him again, this time far more passionately.

He’d want so much more than this.

But this will have to do.

* * *

 

“So much for a curse breaker.”

Sherlock opens his eyes slowly, peering at the mostly dark room. He can tell it’s early in the morning judging by the light coming through the windows and he blinks, wondering what exactly woke him up. He feels… funny, really. Tired but satisfied.

“I told you it was useless,” Mary’s voice comes from the far side of the bedroom and he wonders if alerting the females that he’s awake will do him any favours. “Monsters can’t-”

“She was quite certain it’d work,” Janine argues, sounding upset. “And she never-”

“Oh, please,” Mary scoffs and Sherlock can picture her perfectly: arms crossed, a sour look on her face. “You should know better by now, Janine. It’s hopeless, really and the sooner you realize it, the easier it’ll get-”

“No, no, it can’t be hopeless!” the fairy protests and Sherlock’s heart clenches at the pain in her tone. “I refuse to believe that.”

Mary sighs, sounding dejected. “You should go.”

“I won’t.”

“Janine-”

“I said I won’t,” Janine interrupts firmly and Mary sighs once more.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He feels the rush of magic as the two fairies disappear and he sits up then, wondering what that was about. This curse business is quite a puzzle and he’s curious about how or why would they think he could break it.

He sighs, staring at the ceiling. Memories of a few hours earlier come to his mind and he rubs his chest absentmindedly, attempting to chase the pain away. His encounter with John was certainly pleasurable, but it left him aching for something else. He’d love if the wizard actually took him to bed and curled with him under the covers, holding him to sleep.

It’s nothing but wishful thinking, obviously and he needs to stop with these silly daydreams. They’ll do nothing but hurt him in the long run and besides, it’s rather unfair on John.

He knows what he’s getting into and he has no right to make any demands, nor to have foolish expectations since he hasn’t been promised anything.

It is what it is.

Better to accept that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts anyone? It’s a bit short, I think, but hopefully it was enjoyable anyway?  
> Thanks for reading! Next update is almost ready, but I can’t promise anything since I have (foolishly, I might add) started 2 new fics and well… I get easily distracted :P  
> But this will get finish, worry not!


	8. Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Again, I’m terribly sorry for the late update but I really, really need to stop running away with every plot bunny that comes my way (I have 3 WIPs other than this now. Yay?)  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy this one!

John hesitates for a beat before picking up the crystal sphere.

He stares at the rose inside it for the longest time, ignoring the way his heart constricts inside his chest. It’s been decades since he allowed himself this little comfort and he has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

_ He is comforted,  _ if only because the rose remains as perfect and unchanged as ever, no sign of the passing time visible. On the other hand though, he can’t help the deep sadness the sight invokes, nor the way despair makes him feel so old and tired. Once upon a time he had been confident he would find the solution to this…  _ problem _ but it’s been at least a couple of centuries since he felt something akin to hope on that matter.

Now though-

It’s a silly thought, really. He knows the answer doesn’t lie on that particular direction, no matter what he’d like to believe. True love might be the most powerful magic of it all and so enough to break the darned curse, but-

“Don’t bother,” a voice says from behind him, startling him so badly he nearly drops the orb and so he turns to glare at the newcomer. “We both know your little Prince isn’t the solution. Who could ever love a monster like you?”

John sighs, placing the orb back in its hiding place, well aware of the way Mary’s eyes follow his movements, her anger and resentment making the air thick with tension between them. “You’re right, of course,” he replies evenly, turning away from her. “But what else am I supposed to do?” he asks dejectedly, letting his own sadness and hurt show. “I’m all out of answers.”

Mary scoffs, but she sounds more sad than angry now. “We both are,” she murmurs, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. The contact is light and hesitant, she’s obviously torn between wanting to comfort him and her anger. There’s just too much history between them, both blaming the other and themselves for their situation. They turn to where the rose is safely hidden now, their faces a matching set of desperation and despair.

“I want the curse broken as much as you do,” she says after a beat, her tone wistful. “Even if- even if it meant your happiness.”

“How sweet of you,” he comments sarcastically and Mary smirks self deprecatingly.

“It can’t be broken though,” she adds. “Not by you.”

That much is true.

And yet-

* * *

 

Sherlock seems… he wouldn’t say happier, because he can not believe someone in his situation could be actually happy, but content. Resigned, maybe, but there’s a spring on his steps that wasn’t there before and he spends a ridiculous amount of time at the (new) music room, composing cheerful tones that give John very mixed feelings.

He understands that the rush of post orgasmic hormones is quite delightful and for someone with no experience on the matter more than a little enjoyable, but that won’t last. Eventually, the Prince will realize the mistake he has made (and continues to make) and then-

He’s not quite sure he can’t stand another person he  _ cares for _ hating him.

He’s well aware the concept of love is well out of his realm of understanding. He never minded particularly and even after Mary, he hadn’t really thought it was that important. Of course the blasted Blue Fairy had had other ideas and so…

Well. That hadn’t ended well, had it?

The real unfair thing was dragging Rosie into the mess. He would have learned so much about love if he had been given an actual chance to watch his daughter grow, but curses are cruel that way. They take away what’s more important to the cursed one and impose a series of impossible conditions in order for it to be broken.

He frowns as he continues staring at the Prince, who remains lost in his own little musical world. Love is indeed a difficult concept; anyone will tell you that. It’s part understanding and acceptance and care and desire. It’s something supposed to stand the test of time and every other  _ crap _ life might throw your way.

_ They don’t have that,  _ he knows, their agreement is one born out of need and loneliness and maybe a bit of desire (at least on his part) but that’s all it is: it could never turn into love.

Except-

He feels this tug, deep within his bones, this call that tells him  _ this is it.  _ It’s not now, but  _ it could be  _ and the potential-

But he fears it’s all wishful thinking. He fears his own desperation is making him see things that aren’t there, believe things he has no reason to believe. He can not bear the idea of hoping just to be disappointed once more.

He should take a step back and think things through, but he’s always been bad at holding himself back. He  _ wants  _ the Prince and since the Prince doesn’t seem inclined to disagree on that particular matter…

Why should he hold himself back?

It’s not like it matters. It’s not like Sherlock expects  _ something  _ from him.

So that’s fine, isn’t it?

“Did you use to play a lot back at home?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe, as if he has just arrived instead of having spent a ridiculous amount of time just  _ staring  _ at the younger man.

Sherlock hums, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. His lack of surprise seems to suggest he was well aware of John’s presence and the wizard isn’t quite sure what to think about that. “Not really,” the Prince replies absentmindedly, his tune turning much more  _ vivacious _ . “Mummy said this much emotion wasn’t appropriate,” he says as he comes to an abrupt stop. “Too… passionate, apparently.”

John snorts. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Sherlock smirks, looking over his shoulder. “Mayhap. It has some logic, though. Playing allows me to put a lot of emotions that I could never hope to convey verbally into notes.”

“You play beautifully,” the wizard says, without really meaning to, coming to stand closer to the other man. “Lucky me we don’t have those silly restrictions about  _ property _ in here.” He places his hands over the Prince’s shoulders, tracing light circles, enjoying the way Sherlock shivers under his touch. 

“Lucky indeed,” Sherlock says, placing the violin back on its case before turning around and kissing him firmly on the mouth. It’s mostly a chaste kiss, more due the Prince’s inexperience than any actual desire to keep it tame. John smiles wickedly, pushing the younger man against the closest wall and kissing him thoroughly.

Sherlock hums in encouragement, hands on his hips urging him to press closer.

This is truly delightful and John’s should be happy with it.

And yet-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts anyone?  
> It’s kind of short, but I do like it. It’s always such fun to write this silly boys mutually pining :P  
> I intended to write a slightly more sympathetic Mary but well… I think it’ll make sense when we finally get the whole story, but we’ll see, I suppose! ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter!! I’m terribly, terribly sorry about the late update but well… better late than never, right? :P  
> Enjoy!

Time has a tendency to slip through your fingers when things are going well.

That’s why happiness never seems to last.

Sherlock taps his fingers against the window, watching the rain fall, mind far away. His body aches pleasantly and he feels mostly content, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind, as if he’s forgetting something. He’s not exactly sure what, but it seems awfully important.

He hugs himself as he feels a shiver running down his spine. The days are getting colder again, winter fast approaching. To think nearly a year has passed since he first came to the Castle; so many things have changed and yet-

He half turns to the bed, where John is dozing off. The wizard doesn’t sleep long and rarely in the same bed as Sherlock, regardless of their previous activities, but lately Sherlock has gotten him to stay more and more time. They chat about seemingly silly things, but the Prince treasures each one of their simple conversations. They’re not much, he knows, but they have helped him put together a bit of the other man’s backstory and, for now at least, he thinks that’s enough.

The issue though-

He sighs, coming to sit on the bed once more. He had known he was making a risky gamble; he already was attracted to John and he enjoyed his company immensely, paired with their insolation, it was entirely too easy to come to  _ depend  _ on the other man. That would have been bad enough, he thinks, but he fears he has done something even more foolish.

He thinks he might have fallen in love.

It’s ridiculous, really. He doesn’t know John that well for such feeling to develop. It makes no sense whatsoever and he never actually thought himself capable of even  _ feeling  _ such thing but-

It seems he was mistaken.

He huffs, looking at his partner once more. It’s fitting, he thinks morosely, that the one man that has manage to inspire such sentiment in him is simply incapable of returning it.

Although he does believe John cares for him and not only because he sees to his physical needs. He thinks the wizard values his company and enjoys having him around, but the feeling doesn’t go any further.  

He had thought that that would be enough.

But it isn’t.

* * *

 

Apparently, throwing random trinkets isn’t as therapeutic as he has been lead to believe.

Sherlock sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. He and John got into an argument about… he can’t even remember about what. It’s his own fault, of course, letting his emotions rule his head and allowing all his desperation to show. He’s not… unhappy with their circumstances, but he can’t help longing for more. And even if he knows John made him no promises and that he knew from the very beginning what he was getting into-

It still hurts.

As a result, he lashed out over something silly and that had lead to a lot of screaming about the most ridiculous, unimportant things. He knew John was getting more and more irritated and that he should shut up, but he had continued prodding, until-

Well. All in all, he supposes it could have ended worse. John left in a puff of purple smoke and Sherlock was left alone to deal with his anger and once it drained out, with his pain.

He sighs again. God, he’s such a fool. He probably should-

He looks around the kitchen, searching for something else to throw, hoping it’ll make him feel less tense. There’s a mess of broken cups and plates at his feet, but Sherlock ignores it, not even avoiding stepping on them. He’ll have to clean later, obviously, but right now he can’t focus on anything other than the lump in his chest that makes him ache.

His eyes land on a small plate with fruits. He’s not really a fan of sweet things, so most of it has remained untouched, the fruit not rotting thanks to some sort of spell, no doubt. He glares at the plate and picks up a pear, throwing it against the wall.

It bounces back.

He rolls his eyes dramatically, picking up an apple. How appropriate that even the magic fruit is being contraire. He sighs, taking a small bite from the apple, thinking about his situation and what he can do about it. He supposes he needs to stop his…  _ affair  _ with John since his traitorous hormones are obviously messing up with his head, but-

He grabs the table for support, suddenly feeling dizzy. The apple slips from his fingers, but he barely notices, busy as he is attempting to keep himself straight. His vision is blurry and he’s distantly aware of how  _ painful  _ breathing is becoming, but he can’t quite focus on anything but the dark figure that has appeared in front of him.

This just isn’t going to end well.

* * *

 

“John is rather careless with his pets, don’t you think? Letting them wander around the place, with no sort of protections to keep them in. Or safe.”

Sherlock blinks awake, trying to keep his calm despite the situation he has unexpectedly found himself in. He recognizes the voice, of course and even though he never did find out who this other mysterious wizard was, he knows enough to figure out he’s in trouble.

“What do you want?” he asks groggily and the other man smirks, crunching down so they’re face to face.

“Manners, little Prince. It isn’t polite to assume someone wants something just because they’re visiting.”

Sherlock looks around. They’re still in the Castle, apparently, but he doubts they’ll be here for long. “When John comes back-”

“We won’t be here anymore,” the other interrupts him cheerfully. “But do not worry, there’s really nothing to worry about. You’ll be perfectly fine.”

Sherlock scoffs, glaring as well as he can considering the headache he’s quickly developing. “What do you want from me?” he demands once more and the wizard smirks, standing up.

“I’m just doing a favour to an…  _ ally  _ of mine. Or something like that.” He stands up once more, grabbing Sherlock by the wrist and helping him stand. “Your brother is quite concerned for you, you know? Why, with Mummy and Dad dead-”

“What?”

His companion (captor?) smirks again. “That got your attention, huh? Well, as I was saying, I’m just picking you up on your brother’s behalf.”

“But I- Mycroft wouldn’t- he knows why I left. He knows I made a deal.”

“Does he?” the wizard asks absentmindedly, pulling him up. “Well, he seems to have forgotten. Better pay him a quick visit, huh?”

“I can’t! John-”

“Oh, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

Sherlock frowns. “You’re not doing this out of goodwill.”

“Now why would you think that?” the other says playfully. “Relax, little Prince. I’ll bring you back.”

Sherlock bites his lip nervously. “I can’t refuse to acompany you, can I?”

“The apple was poisoned. You can come with me, visit your brother and get yourself cured or stay here and die. I don’t particularly care, although the last option would be a pity. You’re far too cute to die just yet.”

Sherlock shivers, realizing he feels weakened and only managing to stand still thanks to the wizard’s hand around his waist. “Why are you doing this?”

The man smiles. “Oh, I have my reasons,” he replies mysteriously before whisking them away in a puff of smoke and Sherlock knows no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> It’s a little on the short side, but I hope it was enjoyable regardless.  
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!


	10. Bad news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I keep telling myself we’re nearing the end, but to be quite honest, I’m not quite sure about that :p  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

John thinks sneaking into his own home might be the epitome of crazy, but he truly doesn’t want to run into Sherlock just yet. It’s been nearly a week since their fight and he has been traveling as far away as possible, looking for as many deals as possible. He responded to nearly every summon, regardless of how simple or ridiculous it seemed; anything to stay away from the Castle for as long as possible.

Now however-

He could have stayed away much longer, perhaps even forever more. It didn’t feel right though and he knows he needs to talk to Sherlock. He’s quite determined to sort things out, he really is, it’s just…

It can’t hurt to wait a little longer, can it?

The place is oddly silent, or maybe not so oddly. It’s likely Sherlock has confined himself to his own room, or perhaps the music room. Not the laboratory, he doesn’t think, because the place holds too many memories for them now and considering…

Although maybe the Prince doesn’t think of their  _ activities  _ like that. After all, John is the one who has gone and foolishly sort of fallen in love or something very close to it. He knows their little arrangement isn’t meant to be anything other than a pleasant way to pass the time, but-

That’s probably part of the reason why he lost his temper so easily a few days ago. When you’re constantly frustrated with yourself, it’s entirely too easy to lash out onto anyone available.

“Ah, good of you to show up.”

John turns around slowly, feeling like a guilty teen having been caught by his mother sneaking back into the house. Which is ridiculous, of course, because he’s centuries old and the one talking to him isn’t related to him in any form. “Janine,” he greets politely, false smile firmly in place. “To what I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Do you ever check your security spells?” Mary questions, appearing next to the brunnette. “She’s been living here for  _ decades. _ ” John frowns, because that sounds like the sort of thing he should have noticed sooner. Mary rolls her eyes dramatically and Janine smirks a tiny bit. “She’s also been spending a ridiculous amount of time with your little Prince. In his bedroom.”

John finds himself growling, without really meaning too. The fairies take a step back, cautious but not overly worried. He forces himself to get his emotions back under control and slip his blank mask back on. “Is that so?”

“Oh, please, can we leave the passive-aggressive discussion for later and focus on the problem at hand?” Janine says, looking between both of them like a very exasperated parent. “Why do you still do this?” she asks Mary, earning herself a dark glare from her, which she promptly ignores. “Anyway, what we meant to tell you is that your Prince is gone.”

The words are like a bucket of cold water and John can actually feel his heart shattering. He’s vaguely aware of his knees failing him and next thing he knows he’s kneeling on the floor, Mary and Janine hovering over him, both looking reluctantly concerned. “What?” he asks weakly, feeling empty.

“We don’t exactly know what happened,” Mary says, hesitating before kneeling next to him and tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder. “We did hear your fight, of course, hard not to, and later we heard him taking it out with all the dinnerware, but…” she trails off, uncertain, turning to Janine for help, but the other fairy simply shrugs. “We suddenly couldn’t hear him anymore. Or feel his presence, so…”

“Now, there’s no need to panic,” Janine says and John realizes he’s breathing erratically, entirely too loudly. “He’s probably fine. Just- we don’t know where. And my magic is nowhere strong enough to attempt a tracking spell, not anymore, so we were stuck with nothing to do but wait for you.”

John forces himself to stand up on his wobbly legs. If Sherlock has simply run away, that’d be one thing but he supposes it’s likely something has happened to him. One doesn’t live as long as John has without making plenty of enemies and he certainly has a handful of them to pick from. If someone has gotten hold of his Prince-

Well, that someone is going to regret it very deeply.

* * *

 

It shouldn’t be possible. Hiding from a regular tracking spell is possible, of course, but this is the strongest magic John knows of and yet he has had no success. Mary and Janine stand next to him, both growing more concerned with each passing minute. Neither of them might be very fond of him, but they do seem to worry about the young Prince.

What the hell is going on?

“It makes no sense,” he hisses darkly, pulling at his own hair. “This spell is supposed to track the life force; there’s simply no way to disguise that!” he exclaims, frustrated with himself. “This shouldn’t be happening!”

“Unless…” Mary says and then bites her lip, as if regretting her half formed thought. John turns to her, a dark look on his face. The fairy looks away, reluctant to finish the phrase.

“Unless what?” John questions, tone deadly. Mary glares at him, thoroughly unimpressed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Unless he’s not alive,” she deadpans, holding her head high.

The sound John makes is not human, but then, neither is he. Janine pushes Mary behind herself, even though she knows there’s really no way either of them could protect themselves (or the other) from the Dark One’s rage. There’s the sound of several items in the room falling and breaking and both females cling to each other, more than a tad scared. John barely notices, the hole in his chest where his heart should be far too painful for him to pay attention to anything at all.

Finally the pain gives into quiet resignation and the all powerful wizard falls onto his knees, breathing heavily. The fairies exchange a glance and then Janine approaches him warily, kneeling next to him. “We could try asking the Blue fairy,” she says gently, “even if something did happen- she’d know.”

John growls darkly, making Janine retreat once more. He hates the idea of asking  _ her  _ for help, but he knows the fairy is right. Although he knows the spell should be working, if there’s even the slightest chance that Sherlock is being concealed by some powerful magic, the fairy leader is his best chance at finding his wayward Prince.

“Alright,” he murmurs softly, standing up on wobbly legs. “I’ll contact her.”

He doesn’t like this plan.

But it’s the only one he has.

* * *

 

The damn fairy shows up at his home whenever she wants, but she can’t be bothered to when he actually reaches for her. He curses lowly as he throws yet another useless object into the fire, watching the flames consume it. It’s been 5 days since he came back into the Castle, which makes it a little under 2 weeks since Sherlock’s disappearance, apparently and he’s growing restless. If the Prince had just run away, tired of having to deal with him and his horrid moods he would be upset, but not surprised and certainly not this anxious. This utter silence however-

“The place is looking a little dusty, don’t you think?” says a voice, startling him out from his gloomy thoughts. “Haven’t got a new cleaning boy yet?”

John looks at the other wizard, eyes narrowing. His words seems to suggest- “What?”

“Well, I mean, I assumed… with all the nasty business with your previous cleaning boy, although of course that was not all he was…” Moriarty’s smirk is cruel and amused and John’s blood has run cold. “I thought you’d have gotten a new one.”

“Which nasty business?” John asks, tone deadly calm, sitting up a bit straighter.

Moriarty scrunches his nose. “Well, death is always nasty, don’t you agree? Especially at hands of one's family,” he adds thoughtfully, a strange look in his eye. “Not that I would know about that,” he says, smile all teeth. “Poor pretty thing. All he wanted was to keep his Kingdom safe. Then again, he should have known better than to make a deal with the Dark One.”

“What-are-you-talking-about?” John asks slowly, punctuating every word. The wizard blinks innocently, as if he truly had no idea the impact his words are having on the much older and powerful man.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Moriarty says, eyes shining with cruel delight. “Apparently, your pretty boytoy got tired of you playing with his affections, so he head back home. His family wasn’t exactly… thrilled.”

No, that wouldn’t make sense. Sherlock’s kingdom is a far away, there’s no way-

But he can no longer concentrate on the cold hard facts, the gaping hole in his chest having opened once again. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down but he  _ can’t _ . Oh god, what has he done?

“Well, I can see this is a bad time,” Moriarty says flippantly, smirk firmly in place. “I shall come back later, huh?”

He disappears in a cloud of dark smoke, but John doesn’t notice, his mind numbed by pain. He sinks into his seat, burying his head in his hands, guilt and anger eating him up.

God, he knew this was a bad idea. He knew a monster like him deserved no happiness, he should have known he could only be the Prince’s destruction. Oh, if only he could turn back in time-

But it’s too late for it now.

A sob escapes him and he hugs his knees to his chest. He feels like a trapped animal, wanting to destroy something.

And then the idea occurs him: he can’t bring his Prince back.

But he can make those who hurt him pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I’m rather happy with how this chapter went, even if that wasn’t my original plan :P I’m concerned about the resolution, of course, but well… we’ll see I guess ;)  
> Let me know what you thought, pretty please? Thanks for reading!


	11. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I know it’s been a while but well… I get distracted far too easily.  
> On the bright side, I’m nearly done with the next chapter and I think we just have one more chapter after that so… no more long waits :P  
> Enjoy!

The first thing Sherlock becomes aware off is that he’s lying on the cold hard floor.

He blinks awake, narrowing his eyes when he realizes he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. He attempts to sit up to get a good look around the room he’s in, but he promptly realizes that’s impossible: his arms and legs are tied up in a weird angle that, while not exactly comfortable, isn’t painful either and doesn’t affect the blood flow, although it makes it impossible to move on his own.

What the hell is going on?

He attempts to sit up once more, ignoring the way his muscles protest at the effort. In the end he has to give up since he’s quickly getting tired and he figures he’s going to need his energy if he’s going to make it out of here. Wherever “here” might be.

He narrows his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The room is cold and the only wall he can see is completely bare, made of what looks like solid concrete. From the corner of his eye he catches sight of a metal door that seems pretty thick, but that’s a little hard to say for sure from his current angle.

He frowns, growing desperate since his mind keeps coming up blank when he tries to remember how he ended up here. He feels a vague sense of urgency, a little voice in the back of his head that’s telling him he’s in big trouble and something else: he’s forgetting something terribly important, there’s someone...

But the harder he tries the remember, the more his head aches, memories of his life before this empty room becoming blurry. 

He remembers his name and his family, but he doesn’t quite remember their faces or their names. He recalls living in a Castle, but he can’t tell for sure if he was a Lord or a simple servant. He remembers feeling lonely and desperate and then neither. He recalls being heartbroken, although for the life of him he can’t remember why.

Trying to make sense of his scattered memories, he falls asleep once more.

It’s not like he has many other things to do in this little dark dungeon, after all.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up again, he’s not alone anymore. There’s a redheaded woman sitting right next to him, holding a glass of water to his lips, looking troubled and perhaps a tad scared. Sherlock drinks, his mouth dry as the desert and the woman offers him a tight, sad smile.

“Do you remember me?” she asks gently, pushing his hair away from his face. Sherlock frowns, trying to remember and while he has some flashes of the same woman sitting right next to his bed, half scaring him to death by her sudden appearance, it seems a far away memory: as if it all had happened in a dream.

“Should I?” he asks finally and the woman sighs, running her fingers through his hair.

“Do you remember John? Does the name tell you anything?” Sherlock’s heart constricts painfully inside his chest, but the name means nothing to him and so he doesn’t understand his reaction. He frowns once again and the woman shakes her head dejectedly.

“Go back to sleep,” she orders, once he has finished his water, covering his eyes with her small hand. “I’ll sort this out. I hope.” He can hear the desperation in her voice, although he doesn’t understand. But soon sleep has claimed him once more and it matters no more.

 

* * *

 

Days pass (or so he thinks). He realizes he’s always wearing clean clothes and he doesn’t feel any hunger or any need to go to the bathroom. He does get thirsty every now and then, but the mysterious woman always sees to that, even if half of the time she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

Wherever “here” might be.

He’s still tied off, but his muscles don’t ache despite the tight ropes, except when he attempts to move. He’s beginning to think they’re enchanted somehow, although he has no clue why would someone bother with that. The ropes are an odd shade of blue that sometimes shimmer silver or golden, without any pattern and for no reason that Sherlock can deduce. His head aches constantly and his memory is getting more and more blurry with each passing day.

He desperately wants to know what’s going on and how did he end up in this situation, but his only visitor, the redheaded woman, ignores all his questions and instead poses some of her own. She seems oddly fixated on making Sherlock remember someone named John, but while his heart aches at the sole mention of the name, it means  _ nothing _ to him.

He thinks the woman is really worried about this John fellow. He seems to be in a bit of a rough spot and he might be doing some rash decisions (although she won’t say what exactly is he doing). She seems to think Sherlock can help, but she won’t say how and Sherlock is quite confused: she never attempts to set him free and so that clashes a bit with his theory of her wanting his help.

Inside the room there’s no night or day, but Sherlock fancies he can  _ sense  _ the pass of time somehow. It passes slowly, infinitely so and he feels more and more miserable with each passing day.

He doesn’t understand why he’s here or why it feels like he’s forgetting something important. Why he feels vaguely hopeless and desperate, why he feels like something very bad is about to happen.

His whole world consists of the wall in front of him and of the vague shape of the door somewhere to his right. And yet he can tell there’s something waiting outside for him. 

It doesn’t make any sense, but nothing seems to do.

He’s afraid he might be losing his mind.

He’s more or less right.

 

* * *

 

“This is getting out of control,” the redheaded woman informs him darkly, pacing around the small room. “John is- he is- he’s going to something very foolish and you’re never going to forgive him and then everything will have been for nothing.” She bites her lip, pulling at her hair as she continues pacing. “What do I do?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, just continues staring at her. He’s very weak nowadays and talking feels like a superhuman effort, so he just doesn’t bother. It’s not like the woman actually listens: it seems to him he’s just a prop for her to vent.

“I need to tell him. I do, don’t I? But then it’ll mean- it wouldn’t be true love, then. If you can’t remember him on your own, then it’s not true love because if it was true love you’d remember. In which case… well. But if I keep waiting… it’s risky, isn’t it? And if he kills your brother, the Evil King will be horribly pleased and it won’t matter if you remember afterwards because well… a murdered sibling is hard thing to overlook, isn’t it?” she’s rambling and Sherlock is only half listening. She’s not making any sense anyway, so it doesn’t matter, does it?

“Should I tell him?” she asks, looking terribly young and insecure and Sherlock frowns, considering the question seriously.

“I think you should,” he answers finally, slowly and the woman nods to herself, pushing her hair away from her face.  “Why does it matter if I can remember him or not? What does that have to do with True Love?”

She smiles a bit sadly. “True Love is supposed to surpass death.”

“Am I dead?”

She tilts her head to the side, considering her answer. “Sort of.”

Sherlock blinks, processing the new information. “Well, that’s…” he trails off, unsure of what he can possible say to that. The woman offers him a small smile and he shrugs, closing his eyes once more. “Anyway, you should tell him. For a lot of people’s sakes, apparently.” Something is niggling at the back of his mind, but the thought can’t quite form and so he dismisses it. It probably doesn’t matter. “It’s not… right, not to.”

She huffs, but doesn’t comment further.

When Sherlock opens his eyes again he’s on his own once more.

He’s not quite sure how he feels about this whole  _ being dead  _ business.

It could be worse, he supposes.

Although he’s not sure  _ how. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I swear I’m going somewhere with this and I swear we’ll have a happy ending ;) I just don’t do unhappy ones.  
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It didn’t take me that long, did it?  
> Also, we’re approaching the end! And yet we don’t have any answers! How exciting is that? (and by exciting I mean, how bad at planning and foreshadowing the writer is? :P)  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

“And you’re just telling me this now? Why?”

The redheaded fairy bites her lip, looking unsure and terribly young for a second. John glares, not moved at all by this show of vulnerability that he’s fairly certain is completely fake. The female sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, looking a tad annoyed now.

“I was hoping there was another way,” she replies finally, holding her head high. Defying, although she doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

“Alright then,” John concedes, because now is definitely not the time to be picking fights with the Blue Fairy, not if he wants to save Sherlock. “So how do I break the curse?”

His interlocutor pursues her lips, a dark look on her face. “I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?!” John demands, quickly losing his temper. He can feel his magic swirling around them, uncontained and uncontrolled and while he knows that’s dangerous for everyone involved, he can’t bring himself to care.

The fairy tightens her jaw, looking deeply uncomfortable. “The traditional way to break a curse, particularly when faced with a sleeping curse, is a True Love Kiss. You can probably see why that’s not going to work.”

John forces himself to ignore the way his heart clenches at being reminded of that little fact. “Is there any other way?” he asks, as calmly as he can, trying to get himself back under control, knowing his anger won’t help one bit.

“It’s a rather… unusual sleeping curse, truth to be told,” the Blue Fairy declares slowly, as if measuring her words. “While the soul of the cursed one does end up in the dream land between life and death, you should have been able to pick on his life force, so a tracking spell should have worked. However-”

“I really couldn’t care less about the magical instrensiquities of this particular curse,” John deadpans, clenching his fist. “Just tell me what to do.”

The Fairy leader surveys him thoughtfully, head tilted to the side. “You need to find the caster and ask.”

“How? I don’t- I don’t know how to find them, I don’t know who might be! Do you think I haven’t-”

“You’re terribly unobservant sometimes,” the readhead comments, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Who told you about Sherlock’s death?” John blinks, processing the question. “I have yet to discover what exactly is he after, but evidently this benefits him somehow. As far as I can tell, he has no particular interest in the Kingdom of Holmes, but-”

Oh. Damn it all, of course he’s involved; how could he miss it? He should have noticed sooner.

He stands up quickly, a dark look on his face and the fairy takes a step back, evidently wary. He however doesn’t take notice, his whole focus on what he’s going to do now.

It’s time to pay Moriarty a little visit.

* * *

 

“I’m disappointed, John, I really am. I thought you’d have noticed sooner.”

John doesn’t reply, eyes sweeping around the room, searching for some sort of clue, although he’s fairly certain he won’t find any. The Evil King isn’t stupid and he knows how to cover his tracks better than anyone.

“Why would you do this?” John asks, forcing himself to keep his tone calm and not betray just how ansty he’s feeling. He hasn’t slept or eaten in weeks, so he’s not in the best of moods and certainly not willing to play the crazy sorcerer's games.

Moriarty smirks. “Now John, why does anyone does anything? Mostly, it seemed like a fun idea to pass time. Seeing all the chaos and destruction you caused on your wake… well, that was very enjoyable.” He shrugs non committedly, leaning back on his throne. “Also, the Holmes heir does annoy me a great deal. I do like the younger one better and he’s certainly cuter.” John growls, not really noticing but the other simply smirks some more, evidently pleased with the way this is going. “I also have a deal in mind, if you’re interested.”

John bites his lip. He knows he has no choice but to accept; he also knows he’s going to regret it forever more. He’s always been careful in his dealings with Moriarty, making sure to never give the other man the upper hand but in this case, he knows there’s no way around it.

His emotions have left him vulnerable and that’s an experience he certainly doesn’t care to repeat.

Still- “How about I don’t kill you for crossing me? I think that’d be very generous of me.”

Moriarty snorts, waving a hand dismissively. “Do you think I care about that?” he asks, almost tiredly. “Life can get so… tedious sometimes. People are so incredibly boring.” John had feared that would be the answer, but he doesn’t let his disappointment show. The King smirks, standing up in one fluid motion and approaching him. “You could of course try to kill me, but if you succeed… well, how will you find your little Prince then?” His smile is crazed and John gulps nervously. “It was a delightful curse to work on; not even your  _ dear friend  _ the Blue Fairy can find him in this realm, can she?”

John clenches his jaw, recognizing he has lost. “What do you want, then?”

Moriarty smirks. “A favour to be called in at a later date.”

“I’d like to know-”

“Oh, but you’d like matters not, Johnny dear. Whatever gave you the impression my terms are up for negotiation?”

John bites his tongue to stop himself from replying and unclenches his fists, so he won’t end up hitting the other man. Neither option will help one bit.

“That’s what I thought,” Moriarty says pleasantly, turning around and taking a seat on his throne once more. “So, do we have a deal?”

John takes a deep breath, a part of him unwilling to go with this. Normally he’d never let someone manipulate him like this, normally he’d simply turn around and walk away and forget all about this mess. It’s not like he can’t find himself another companion, if the itch ever arises again and for all of Sherlock’s attractiveness…

But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

“Deal.”

* * *

 

“You know how the standard cure for a sleeping curse is True Love Kiss?” Moriarty asks, looking darkly amused as they both stand next to Sherlock’s sleeping figure. The Prince seems to be perfectly fine, as if he was indeed just sleeping and John can feel himself reluctantly relaxing. He doesn’t like the deal he has made, but if it gets him his Prince back… 

Well, it’s more than worth it then.

“What’s your point?” John asks darkly, turning expectantly to his interlocutor. “Surely you wouldn’t be as careless as not to put an alternative cure into the curse. Not if you actually expected me to hold my end of the deal.”

Moriarty smirks, looking thoroughly amused before leaning down and pressing his lips to the sleeping man’s. John takes a step, enraged beyond reasoning but his anger quickly evaporates after noticing Sherlock’s fluttering eyelids. He blinks, unsure of what to think and he turns back to Moriarty, who’s still smirking, looking pleased with himself.

“Think of that what you will,” the other wizard tells him mysteriously before disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke, leaving John alone with Sherlock. The younger man has completely woken up now and he’s looking around the room, more than a tad confused.

“Sherlock,” John murmurs eagerly, dropping himself onto his knees next to the bed, pushing his thoughts about Moriarty’s actions to the back of his mind for the time being and deciding to focus on the man he’s fairly certain he loves, even though he knows the feeling isn’t mutual.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asks, pulling away when John tries to grab his hand. “Who are you and where are we?”

John’s heart sinks to his feet. An after effect of certain curses is memory loss, but if it’d be just temporary or permanent… it’s hard to tell right now.

Not that it matters, he supposes. He has hurt the other man enough, he has put him in enough danger just by being with him. So if Sherlock doesn’t remember him… well, it might be for the best. It’ll make saying goodbye easier, in any case.

“It doesn’t matter,” John replies softly, allowing himself to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls one last time and feeling horrified with himself when Sherlock flinches. “I’m taking you home now,” he promises softly, standing up once more.

“Home,” Sherlock muses out loud, a small smile playing on his lips now and John’s heart shatters into a million pieces. “Yes, I’d like to go home now.”

John closes his eyes, destination firmly in mind.

The deal might have been for Sherlock to stay with him for all eternity, but he knows now that the young Prince never actually  _ belonged _ to him and that the best he can do, the  _ right thing to do  _ is to send him back to his family and his Kingdom.

“Come on then,” he whispers, offering his hand to his companion, who takes it a bit reluctantly, expression unsure and John tries to smile reassuringly. “Come on, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Sherlock bites his lip but finally does take his hand if a bit wary. John tells himself to ignore the ache in his chest and so they finally disappear in a cloud of purple smoke.

Time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> So many questions left unanswered, so little time to explain it all ;) Although I certainly hope the ending will make sense and it won’t end up feeling rushed.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	13. Unperfect endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m so SO sorry it took me so long to update, but you don’t know how many times I rewrote this because I wasn’t happy with it. I do intend for this to have a happy fairytale ending, but well… I never intended for it to be completely straightforward. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but hopefully you’ll see my point soon enough ;)  
> Now, on with the chapter!

Something doesn’t feel right.

Sherlock looks around his room, eyes narrowed, feeling cheated somehow. The place looks vaguely familiar, just as the rest of the Castle, but he feels no…  _ connection _ to it whatsoever. There are the occasional flashes of memories of his childhood; playing hide-and-seek with his brother (although the older one didn’t really know they were playing), sneaking into the kitchens to steal a sugary treat, throwing temper tantrums in the Throne room when his parents were being insufferable. But despite the fact that he knows this place is indeed where he lived, it’s not  _ home. _

The wizard had promised to take him home.

Even though he can’t remember where that might be. He only knows something is missing here and he feels restless: something is calling for him, urging him to go to his actual  _ home  _ but his memory is just as blank as it was the day he woke up.

He throws himself dramatically onto his bed, covering his eyes with his arm. He has to do something or he’ll drive himself insane. His brother has been no help at all, always watching him like he expects him to suddenly disappear, getting all nervous when Sherlock asks if he was somewhere else before he was cursed. He knows he’s hiding something, but he can’t get him to talk.

He thinks of the wizard, who disappeared as soon as he dropped him off, not saying a single word as goodbye. Sherlock had found it odd how quickly he had let go of him, when back at the tower he seemed reluctant to stop touching him despite the Prince’s evident uncomfortableness. The second he had let go though, Sherlock had felt his absence as keenly as if it was a missing limb.

Which is weird, because Sherlock didn’t remember ever seeing the wizard before, so why should he feel his absence so keenly?

He sits up again, nervous energy making it impossible for him to stay still. He walks around the room once more, desperately trying to remember whatever he’s missing that seems so important, but the only thing he achieves is to get himself a nasty headache.

He knows there’s something he’s forgetting.

But what?

* * *

 

There’s a woman sitting on his bed.

Sherlock blinks, surveying his mysterious guest while he considers the merits of calling for the guards. She doesn’t seem dangerous and she looks vaguely familiar, but he can’t quite place her face.

“Can I help you?” he asks, closing the door after him, trying to look calm and collected. The woman huffs, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“The real question is,  _ can I help you?” _ she says, standing up in one fluid move. Sherlock frowns, trying to recall where has he seen her before, but his mind keeps coming up blank. “Although to be fair, I think I’d be helping all of us,” she continues, her nose scrunched in displeasure. “John is… _ difficult _ on his best days, he’s been downright insufferable lately. Even though Mary and I do our absolutely best to stay out of his way.”

The names sound vaguely familiar, and the mention of “John” sends Sherlock’s heart racing, but he can’t explain why. He continues watching her, eyebrows furrowed and she sighs, shaking her head. “You don’t remember at all, do you?” she asks, lips pursued. “Molly said…” she trails off, hesitantly. “I guess she was right.”

She seems to consider this new revelation for a beat, before shrugging carelessly. “You know what? I’m taking you with me anyway,” she declares confidently. “I’ve never been a believer of True Love, anyway. Love is love and I refuse to believe there’s just this perfect person out there, waiting just for you, who’s the only one who can make you real happy.”

Sherlock frowns some more, because the sentiment rings true within him, but her words don’t make any sense. “Where will you be taking me?” he asks, surprising himself by how eager he sounds. He can feel himself vibrating with nervous energy and he tries to understand why is he feeling this way.

The woman smiles and a name comes to him,  _ Janine. _

“Home,” she replies simply, taking him by the wrist before they both disappear in a cloud of pink smoke.

* * *

 

This new Castle looks… gloomy and foreboding.

But despite the dark exterior, Sherlock doesn’t feel one tiny bit worried. His heart is beating erratically inside his chest, a smile coming unbidden to his lips. There’s a spring on his steps and he finds himself practically running towards the entrance, elated although he doesn’t understand  _ why. _

It doesn’t matter, really.

He throws the doors open, by now smiling like a madman. He’s vaguely aware of Janine slowly making her way uphill, but he doesn’t wait for her to walk into the Castle and start wandering around the place. It seems familiar, in a way the Castle where he grew up didn’t, but he knows it’s not  _ home,  _ either.

He finally comes across what seems to be like a library/laboratory and he enters the room, looking around eagerly. This place feels  _ right,  _ like he could spend a long time here and while it’s still not  _ home,  _ the thing that’s been gawking at his heart without him really noticing seems to calm down.

What is this place?

He looks around, picking up random books and items, trying to make sense of his scattered memories. His head is pounding, but he forces himself not to focus on the pain and instead tries to remember. He can’t, though, the items do seem familiar, everything looks awfully familiar and yet-

“Why did you bring him back?” he hears a woman asking and he turns around to find a blond woman next to Janine. She’s glaring at Sherlock, but there’s no actual heat behind the dark look. She seems to dislike him on principle, but not really and Sherlock finds it more than a tad puzzling.

“Mary,” he greets, the name slipping of his lips easily, as if he had always known it. He frowns, trying to remember how he knows this other woman, but what puzzles him the most is the surprised sound she makes.

“You remember?” she asks, unbelieving, closing the distance between them, eyes open very wide. A reluctant smile is making its way to her lips, as if she doesn’t quite dare to hope and yet-

“No,” he says, not exactly comfortable with the way she’s looking at him. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Mary murmurs, her expression dropping, a flash of pain visible in her eyes and then her expression smooths down once more. “Right, of course. It makes sense,” she smirks and Sherlock thinks that that last part is meant to be cruel, but she just sounds tired. “Of course.”

“I don’t understand,” he confesses softly, almost reluctantly. He doesn’t know these women, not really and yet he thinks that if someone can explain what’s going on, it’d be them.

“I’ll explain,” Janine offers and then makes a face. “No, I don’t think… maybe we should call the Blue Fairy.”

Mary shrugs non committedly, as if she couldn’t care less. Sherlock suspects she indeed doesn’t care. “She might be able to explain, but what makes you think she’d want to?” she asks disdainfully. “She never does.”

Janine shrugs. “It’s not like she has anything to lose and I think… I think she was as disappointed with this outcome as the rest of us.”

In lieu of a response, Mary disappears and Janine sighs, rubbing her temples tiredly. “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s… she’s having a hard time coping with this all.”

Sherlock wonders briefly what  _ this all  _ means, but he supposes it’s not important. “How do we contact this Blue Fairy?”

Janine makes a face. “Well… that might be tricky.”

That doesn’t bode well for the future.

But what choice does he have? 

* * *

 

The Blue Fairy certainly looks familiar.

Memories of a cell, where he was completely bonded and incapable of moving, the woman kneeling next to him, giving him water, talking to him. Retelling him tales of fear and destruction and desperation. And also-

“I met you here,” he says, staring at her intently. “Once, in my bedroom. You said… you said you had an especial interest in the curse being broken.”

The redheaded fairy shrugs non committedly. “The Dark One’s curse has brought nothing but pain and destruction to this land. None of the previous Dark Ones wanted to break it though, so I thought I’d give this one some especial incentive.” She scrunches her nose in displeasure, a frown marring her face. “It didn’t quite work out, but when he dealt for you… well, I had high hopes for you.”

“But now you don’t.”

She flinches minisculely, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by the Prince. “When the Evil King cursed you, I was hoping that would be the breaking point for you two. I…I thought you two were True Love.”

“But we aren’t,” Sherlock says, wanting to make sure he understands and the woman nods. “And so… that’s it? Now I can simply be cast away and we all should just move on?”

The fairy sighs dramatically. “I did not cast you away, although I’d admit I didn’t discourage John of sending you back home. In any case, there’s no point on you staying here-”

Sherlock doesn’t let her finish, his emotions getting the best of him. How dare these people presume to know his heart better than himself? He might not remember the wizard (not exactly, anyway) but he does understand now this restlessness he feels: he aches for what he had and lost and now that he knows exactly what he lost, he’ll fight his way to recover it.

His memories might be gone but surely they can construct new ones.

After all, Love (even if it’s not True Love) it’s worth fighting for.

* * *

 

He sits at the library/laboratory, staring at the fireplace thoughtfully. He has no clear memory of anything, but he has come to recognize he feels the most content here, so it must have been an especial place. He rubs his temples, trying to ease his headache and he tells himself it doesn’t matter if he never recovers his old memories: soon, he’ll have new ones.

Hopefully. There’s no way of predicting what John will do when they see each other again, but he hopes-

He hears footsteps approaching and he tenses involuntarily. He hears someone’s deep intake of breath and he turns towards the door, heart beating erratically inside his chest. No memory comes to him and in fact his mind goes curiously blank, but seeing the man standing by the door, watching him hopefully, Sherlock  _ understands:  _ theirs might not be True Love, but what he feels deep in his veins is Love and so it doesn’t matter one bit. Here is where he belongs, no matter what.

So he crosses the room in just a couple of strides, John taking a step back on pure instinct he suspects, since he’s watching him  _ so full of hope  _ and Sherlock knows he’s got it right. He throws his arms around the man’s neck, John’s arms coming around him just a few seconds later despite his evident surprise at the gesture and Sherlock smiles against his neck, snuggling closer.

He’s finally home.

* * *

 

“You don’t remember anything? Anything at all?”

Sherlock sighs, shaking his head. It feels like he has explained it a million times already: he doesn’t remember anything about John, his life in the Castle, Moriarty or how he got himself kidnapped and cursed. And while he understands why that must be troubling for the wizard, he doesn’t particularly care: he’s exactly where he is supposed to be and surely that counts for something.

“But then how- why are you here?”

Sherlock considers this for a long while. “Because this is where I belong,” he answers finally, but John just keeps on frowning and he supposes he should explain. “Why does it matter if I don’t remember everything? Ever since I woke up in that tower I’ve been feeling this ache in my heart, but it disappears when I’m with you. I know that I feel deeply for you, so why does it matter if I can’t remember any particulars? Doesn’t that just give us the chance to fall in love all over again?”

John tenses, the arm casually wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders tightening his grip. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“John-”

“No, you- you didn’t love me. Before, we just, I mean, I… but you didn’t…”

“I never said,” Sherlock corrects calmly. “I know that much, but you can not doubt the sincerity of my words now. As I said, I don’t recall the particulars, but I just  _ know.  _ I didn’t understand it at first, but now that the picture is a bit clearer, I’ve come to understand that what I feel towards you- what I’ve always felt towards you- is love.”

John shakes his head, eyes closed tightly. “You can’t love me. I’m not… you’re not… you don’t remember.”

“So what if I’m not your True Love?” Sherlock demands, standing up abruptly. “What does that even mean? Is it some sort of magical recipe for a happy ending or something? Because you know that’s bullshit! Love… love is mutable, people change and their love change with them. We might not be these predestined lovers, meant to break your Dark Curse, but why would it matter if we’re happy like this? Don’t you feel the same way?”

John continues shaking his head, looking pained. “You don’t understand. I’m a monster; I don’t deserve-”

“Do you feel the same way?” Sherlock demands, coming to stand in front of him and John finally looks up, eyes red rimmed.

“Yes,” he confesses quietly, as if the words pained him. “But if it’s not True Love, I’m afraid… I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“Then don’t push me away again,” Sherlock replies, kneeling down and grabbing John’s left hand between his. “I want to be here with you. I don’t care about anything else.”

John stares at him for a long while, as if measuring his sincerity and Sherlock holds his stare evenly, holding his hand the whole time. It’s a bit scary, if he must be honest and he knows there are no guarantees it’ll work and he won’t end up broken hearted but he’s willing to take a leap of faith.

The question is, is John?

“Alright,” the wizard murmurs finally, squeezing his hand back. “But if it ever comes the day you want to leave-”

“You’ll let me go,” Sherlock interrupts, smiling. “I know you will. I trust you.”

John smiles, pulling him into a chaste kiss. Sherlock smiles against his lips, before deepening the kiss and coming to sit on his lap, still kissing his partner enthusiastically.

Theirs might not be the Love of fairytales and legends, that breaks curses and overcomes every obstacle thrown their way magically.

It doesn’t make it any less real or important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> We’re missing an epilogue where we’ll get the actual promised happy ending, although I think this one ends rather well, even if there are issues left unresolved (which is the point of the epilogue, really). I hope you enjoyed it and that it was worth the wait ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the final chapter! I know it’s been since forever but well… I get distracted very easily and I had too many plot bunnies nibbling at my feet ;)  
> But here it is! Better late than never, right?

Their reunion is more bittersweet than anything, if John must be honest with himself. He’s happy to have Sherlock back, of course, and glad the other man does love him too, but the knowledge that his curse can’t be broken weighs heavily on him. Love or True Love should be the same thing, or at least he firmly believes that, but apparently it isn’t by magic rules and that sits ill with him. He’s not unhappy, certainly, but he can’t help thinking-

Well. Can anyone blame him for wanting a perfect happy ending?

He had been resigned to an unhappy one, to continue life as he had always known it. Anything that doesn’t lead to that should be a happy outcome and it sort of is, but-

He still feels cheated somehow.

“You’re upset,” Sherlock says gently, not as an accusation and John’s heart aches for him. It’s not fair for the younger man and John reminds himself sharply this is more (much more) than what he deserves, so-

“I’m… disappointed,” he confesses quietly, running a clawed hand through Sherlock’s curls, telling himself he’s been lucky enough to get this and he should be grateful for it. “It’s not- I’m happy you’re here, please don’t doubt that, but... there’s something missing.”

“What?” Sherlock asks, looking honestly pluzzed. “This can’t be about not breaking your Dark Curse. At least I don’t think so.”

John smiles sadly, shaking his head. “That never mattered to me,” he murmurs softly. “It’s not... regardless of what the Blue Fairy might think, I always had anger management issues.” Sherlock chuckles, snuggling closer to him and John relaxes fractionally. “I don’t... I think she let her previous meetings with the other Dark Ones cloud her judgement, not really bothering to actually talk to me before taking…  _ drastic measures. _ ” He sneers, remembering their first meeting. “That definitely soured our relationship. It didn’t help that she managed to ruin my marriage by cursing my daughter.”

“She what?!” Sherlock demands, pulling away abruptly, looking honestly startled. “You- you have a daughter?”

John nods slowly, unsure of how much to reveal. He figures Sherlock deserves to know the truth, although recalling those dark times…

“Mary and I… we married relatively young, as it was the custom in our village. I wouldn’t say we were madly in love with each other, or maybe we weren’t in love at all, but it was sort of expected for us to settle down and so we did. We had a few  _ issues _ as time went by, since money was tight and there was a war going on and we… people at the village… well, let’s just say they weren’t exactly fond of us. She’s a half-fairy, so there’s that and I’m… my mother was… well.” He leaves it vague, finding himself incapable of finishing his thoughts. Those were dark times and he’s not fond of recalling them. Besides, it was so long ago that he has mostly managed to bury his memories. “The war just got worse and soon every man between 20 and 40 was summoned to fight, so I… I went. I went and when I came back I wasn’t the same man.”

He remembers the pain and his many injuries and the heated argument he and Mary had. He wasn’t in the best shape of mind and the only thing that had kept him going… “While I was away, Mary had found out she was pregnant and given birth to a baby girl, who she named Rosemund. I- She was my everything. And I’d have done anything for her. So when the invading soldiers came into the village, threatening to take away the children-” He stops, looking upwards and taking a deep breath. “I took a deal. I’ve been lead to believe that the Dark Curse is a weary burden and no Dark One actually wants to cling to it, but the Blue Fairy never bothered to understand just how…” he trails off, unsure of how to explain, but Sherlock places a hand on top of his, eyes soft and full of affection and he believes he understands. “Anyway, I became the new Dark One, things got even uglier with Mary despite everything else getting better and then… then the Blue Fairy cursed Rosemund.”

“But why?” Sherlock asks, squeezing his hand and John takes another deep breath, willing himself not to lose his temper. It happened so long ago and yet-

“Incentive. Didn’t she tell you that?”

Sherlock looks absolutely  _ livid _ and John blinks in confusion. Why is Sherlock so angry on his behalf?

“But that’s unfair! And what did that curse entail, anyway?” Sherlock demands, standing up and starting to pace around the small room. “Wait. Does that have something to do with the whole True Love stuff?”

John considers his answer. “Most curses can be broken through True Love’s kiss. It doesn’t- I mean, most have other means to be broken, but it’s a pretty standard way.”

“So you… you really need to find this True Love of yours,” Sherlock murmurs dejectedly, as if all his energy has been drained from him. “That’s why… oh.”

And now he’s getting the wrong idea. “Sherlock, I’ve been around for centuries. No one had made me feel the way you have and if that’s not enough to break the damn curse… well.” He shrugs, although he knows his words would be more convincing if he didn’t sound so defeated. 

Sherlock shakes his head furiously, his curls bouncing with each movement and distracting John a bit. “No,” he declares, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m finding this True Love of yours, no matter what.”

“Sherlock-”

“No. Listen, if… when I thought it was just a bunch of nonsense to break a curse that I didn’t think mattered all that much was one thing, but now that I know this… how could I carry on as if nothing had changed? It’s important to you and therefore, it’s important to me.”

“Even if you could manage such feat somehow… you’ve just said we’re happy together. I don’t think-”

“Yes, but it’s not about me!” Sherlock exclaims loudly. “Or you, really. It’s about someone that you love deeply.” He does look pained, but determined and John’s heart swells with affection. Even if he knows it’s an useless pursuit, he’s deeply moved by Sherlock’s willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of John’s.

He pulls him into a passionate kiss, not really having the words to express how much this all means to him. Distracted as he is by the kiss and how  _ right  _ it feels he doesn’t register the sensation of something tingling under his skin, warming everything in its path.

Both are reluctant to pull away even for breath and so they keep on kissing, so lost into each other that they fail to notice something has changed and just brought back into reality by the sound of cry, far away.

“What-?” Sherlock begins, pulling away and John listens closely. The sound is a soft whimper, slightly distressed, but there’s something  _ odd  _ about it. It sounds-

It sounds like a baby crying. 

He’s onto his feet and out of the room before he even becomes aware of what he’s doing, reassured that Sherlock is following without having to be prompted. His steps are slow and measured, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing and unsure of what it could possibly mean in any case, but-

He opens the door to the closed room he has forbidden himself to visit as often as he’d want; the place where he had hidden his poor cursed daughter to avoid any further damage coming to her. The sounds come from inside and he can feel his heart filling with hope, although-

Mary and Janine are there already, the first one carrying a baby, trying to soothe her so she’ll stop crying. It’s a bit futile, perhaps because the shock of being uncursed has been too much for Rosie, perhaps because Mary is also crying and her mother’s distress distresses her further. Janine has a hand covering her mouth, a nervous relieved giggle attempting to escape her.

John sinks onto his knees, unsure if this is real or just a product of his imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind played such a cruel trick on him, but it seems… he thinks…

Sherlock kneels next to him and pinches his arm, startling him. He turns to the young man and the Prince smiles, shrugging. “You looked like you needed to confirm you were awake.”

He lets out a half hysteric laugh, too relieved to care about anything. Mary looks at him, smiling tearfully, offering him their daughter although it’s evident she’s reluctant to do so.

Of course none of that matters the second John finally lays eyes on his daughter. She’s exactly as small as he remembers and just as perfect. She seems to have calmed down now, peering curiously at her surroundings and John leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, well aware of Sherlock’s intent stare on him.

He hasn’t stopped to think how this happened or what exactly changed, but he has decided it matters not.

Things are perfect exactly the way they are.

* * *

 

“Selfless,” the Blue Fairy muses to herself, standing invisible next to the happy reunion. She knows she won’t be welcome, so she keeps herself hidden. While the fairies could probably sense her presence if they were paying enough attention, they’re obviously too busy to pay her any mind.

She ponders today’s revelations, carefully storing the knowledge away since she knows it’s likely it’ll be of use later. It seems funny to her that such an easy answer eluded her for so long: it wasn’t that the young Prince didn’t love John enough, it was that he hadn’t stopped to think about the bigger picture; so caught up in his own feelings, he hadn’t considered something else might be at stake, but when he finally learned the whole truth…

Selfless indeed.

As for John… well, clearly he has learned quite a bit of what love is too. Listening to one another, being there for each other, being willing to let go if there’s nothing else to do…

And maybe, she thinks, she has learned a lesson too.

The Dark Curse can’t be broken, but it can be tamed. She knows John won’t ever wreck havoc anywhere, not as long as he’s happy with his family. Things will go better now, she has nothing to worry about.

With that thought in mind, she turns around and leaves the Castle.

True Love conquers it all indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I know I made you wait for too long for the ending, but hopefully it’ll clarified the loose ends we still had? If not, please let me know what you feel is missing!  
> As usual, a million thanks for reading, for the kudos and the comments. Also a very especial thanks to the lovely Mima who commissioned this work as a result of the Fandom Trumps Hate auction, I hope it didn’t disappoint!  
> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought?

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out! Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)
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> Also, english isn’t my native language, so any mistakes you find, feel free to point them out! You can find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/).
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